Mirage of Truths
by matterhorn
Summary: A mishap throws Hermione into the past, which sets an array of unpredictable events into motion. Can ancient secrets and unsolved mysteries of Hogwarts help her correct the past? Or would it help a certain young Dark Lord gain even more power? HG/TR
1. Engage Hen Mirror

**Mirage Of Truths**

_Summary:__ A mishap throws Hermione into the past, which sets an array of unpredictable events into motion. Can ancient secrets and unsolved mysteries of Hogwarts help her correct the past? Or would it help a certain young Dark Lord gain even more power?_

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters.

Note: This disregards the seventh book in terms of character death and it's epilogue.

* * *

**Chapter 1:  
**

**Engage Hen Mirror**

_Howling winds carried the voices of the damned over bloodstained terrain. The smell of death permeated the air. Nothing living existed, except for a small solitary figure grieving deep in the valley. Her gaze somber, she spoke into the seeming abyss of bodies. "Dull eyes hold no twinkle, as evil holds no boundaries. Souls shall anguish, blood shall run, but sunlight shall shine with the dark's burial…." _

Hermione rose sharply, gasping for air, as her heart pounded anxiously against her chest walls. The vivid images lingered in her mind, blurring reality and leaving her confused and dazed. As if sensing her turmoil, her bed gave a sudden lurch and sent her tumbling onto the chilly hardwood floor. Untangling her limbs from the thick wool, she peered through the blanket at the world around her before glaring at her bed. It had been charmed to avoid the morning sun that streamed through the bedroom windows, and had chosen that moment to scamper into a dark corner.

Tossing the blanket aside, she rose from the floor and rubbed her wrists, which had borne most of the impact from her fall. Her long hair flying with an occasional spark of static, she trudged wearily toward her study while mulling over the dream that had set her in such a state of disarray.

"Did thy come between a centaur and his wrath?" questioned a lounging knight, who resided in a portrait that depicted him and a lovely lady taking tea in a castle garden. Engrossed in her thoughts, Hermione wordlessly bypassed him.

The knight frowned. "What? No witty repartee, my lady?" Surprised at the lack of response to his barb, the knight made a slight sound of dissatisfaction before calling after her once more, "May the radiance of the sun vanquish your foul mood so your acid tongue be free to joust once more!" He then turned back to his companion who gave him such a saucy wink all thoughts of the home's inhabitant quickly dissipated.

Entering her study, Hermione maneuvered around the maze of papers, and other scattered research that lay upon the floor. Stepping around her desk, she ducked underneath an agitated silver and copper colored plant whose flowering buds were shooting off a sleeping dust. Finally reaching her destination, she opened a cabinet drawer and pulled out a small pensieve. Her wand in her right hand, she focused on the dream before placing it into the pensieve to analyze later.

Putting aside her worries, she turned her feet toward her kitchen, carefully side-stepping another pile of books that she had been studying until late at night to complete her final year of her apprenticeship.

Shuffling about her kitchen and boiling some water, Hermione glanced at the Mugglish grandfather clock and was surprised to find it was already 11 in the morning. She groaned; though she may have a little time off before she finished her final year of training, her parents and friends had already planned her vacation time for her, and judging by the time she was already behind.

Creating a checklist in her mind she counted off the things she still had to do before her dinner with the Weasleys at five that afternoon. With a sigh, she remembered that not only did she also have the annual Granger family gathering later that night, but she still had to tidy her flat, pack, and do a bit of shopping. Since not everyone in her family knew that she was a witch, she had to utilize discretion in her Apparating, and had to figure out a way to contact her parents so they could notify her when the coast was clear. Figuring she could tackle this later problem as she came to it, she set out to get ready.

oOo

The narrow corridor made for an uncomfortable waiting place, so Ginny Weasley was eager to accomplish her goal quickly. The explosions that currently came from behind the slightly crooked bedroom door before her were nothing unusual, and Ginny barely noticed them. "What's taking so long?" she hollered, annoyed at having to raise her voice to be heard.

Despite the ruckus, Ginny's question still made it to the ears of the occupants. The noises ceased, and the voice of her brother, Fred, could be heard through the door, "Hush, Ginny – you can't rush art."

"Art? Yeah right. From the sound of things, more like falling ap-art." Ginny quipped.

Her words were met with a hideous growl, followed by the sound of furniture being overturned. Several shouts and explosions later, the breathless voice of George replied. "Joke if you will, dear sister, but you will blinded by our brilliance."

Ginny snorted, "I'll wear shades and an anti-flammable robe, now get your bums out here, Fred, George – and you too Colin. I don't even want to know how they got you involved in their disaster making. Mum has dinner ready." Suddenly a loud squawk was heard. "Do you have a chicken in there?"

Fred answered Ginny with a scoff, "Of course not. Anyway, did any of the greats stop to eat before they made their big discovery?"

"I don't care if they did or not! You are going to prepare for dinner. So move your bums, NOW," Ginny commanded, striking the door several times more. She paused, listening to the muffled whispering and the shuffling of feet coming from the other side of the entryway. Ginny rolled her eyes at their scheming.

"All right, all right," grumbled the twins as they emerged from their room with Colin Creevey and a purplish chicken, tagging along behind. Colin had been seen frequently with the twins in the past month, which in Ginny's opinion was quite curious. When she tried to prod her brothers for information they were evasive, citing that they needed Colin's photography skills for promotional reasons. Ginny didn't really buy this, but had to admit it could be possible since Colin was the second best photographer in the wizarding world, his career skyrocketing at a surprising rate after Hogwarts. He took many exclusive shots that left publications like the Daily Prophet, Witch Weekly, Spella Weekly and many others willing to trade their wand arm for some absolutely scandalous photos.

"You know, we do need a test subject – " said George, looking imploringly at his sister.

Getting down on one knee Fred added, "Oh great sister of ours, will you consider –"

"No and no," Ginny interrupted, crossing her arms in front of her.

"But – "

"No – and that's final. You two better stop whatever it is you're making, and stop bringing all this junk to the Burrow. If Mum finds out she'll toss you like a garden gnome, you know she said no tinkering."

"You blow up the inside of one flat, and all of a sudden – " George made a face.

"–no tinkering –" Fred waggled his fingers.

"–no creating –" George mimed a fainting spell.

"–and no touching of anything." The twins finished together.

Ginny, rolled her eyes, before continuing to scold the boys, "You're lucky that's all Mum told you. If you didn't destroy your flat – " She stopped abruptly as she noticed Fred and George miming her angry tirade with the purple chicken dancing at their feet.

Giving her a slightly sheepish smile at being caught, George answered, "We know. No more lecturing, Mum."

Ginny huffed, "Fine, just hurry up. Oh, and Colin you can wash up though there before dinner," she added, indicating a door to her right to the strangely silent boy. "Oh, and get rid of the chicken." She sniffed, before disappearing down the stairs.

oOo

The aroma of mouth-watering cuisine wafted through the air, accompanied by the din of clanging pots and the chatter of merry inhabitants. Inside the kitchen a large wooden table was laden with an abundance of food that included pasta, salads, sizzling plates of beef, fried potatoes, onions—all waiting to be devoured.

Amid the nattering that currently dominated the Weasley household, the flames in the kitchen's fireplace flared green, signaling that someone was about to enter through the Floo Network. As the red-haired, weather beaten form of Charlie emerged from the fireplace, Molly Weasley let out a cry of welcome before ushering him in and rejoining the current feast.

" 'ey 'ermione, can 'ou pass the 'tatoes?" Ron mumbled through a mouthful of stuffing.

"Chew, Ron." Hermione said as she made a face, and wiped off a drop of spittle that had made it to her face from Ron's inquiry, before pushing the bowl of potatoes closer to Ron.

"Sorry." Ron said as he swallowed, before he piled a large heaping of potatoes onto his plate. Hermione just rolled her eyes. When it came to Molly Weasley's cooking, the boys all became ravenous wolves, and ate until gorged.

The sound of slurps and the smacking of lips reigned for a bit, before Arthur broke the silence, turning to Hermione and asked, "How have your lessons been, dear?"

"Yeah," Fred inserted while grinning, "invite any more vampires over?"

"Battle any more killer rabbits?" George added, while conjuring a rabbit-shaped mist that promptly attacked Ron's hair.

"Reject anymore lovesick ghouls?" Harry chirped in cheerily, while Ron futilely tried batting away the magical rabbit, which only disappeared after a sharp glare from Mrs. Weasley.

Hermione scowled, "No, no, and for Merlin's sake when will you let that go."

"Never," the boys chorused. Hermione groaned. Ever since she had taken on the apprenticeship in the unwritten magics she had been bombarded with the weird and weirder. She had made the mistake of telling her friends, who had responded by teasing her relentlessly over some of the stories.

She shot the boys a glare, as she recollected one of the incidents. It wasn't her fault that her Floo had malfunctioned, nor that the building repairman had been a vampire. She's sworn to give all creatures a chance, regardless. How was she to know that they had fired him three days before, or that he had taken a particular interest in her? He had fixed her Floo after all, though she had quickly decided to relocate after catching him peering through her window as she had gotten out of the tub.

Harry jokingly insisted that she must have taken a permanent dose of Felix Felicis, which always kicked in at the last second to save her arse. Grumbling that he was one to talk, Hermione vehemently disagreed. If she had any luck, she maintained, she would not have been in the situation in the first place. Her last minute saves were not due to luck, either, she insisted, but rather her growing skills. Privately however, she had to agree, considering some of the stories she had not shared with Ron or Harry.

"I would have loved to take some pictures," Colin joined in. Hermione looked at him in disbelief.

"I would just settle on being there, makes me wish I applied," added Ron wistfully.

"Now boys, leave poor Hermione alone. I'm sure she doesn't want to spend her holiday reminiscing over that horrible program," said Molly, standing up. Hermione shot her a grateful look.

Trying to change the subject, Molly then added, "Now who's up for some peach cobbler?"

"I'm sure Hermione is!" Ron and Harry tittered in reference to another unusual event Hermione had faced. Grimacing and not at all appreciative of the reminder, she reached out to smack them upside the heads.

oOo

The night air bathed the three individuals that sat huddled on the porch steps. Their forms illuminated by a bit of light streaming from the windows. Hermione sat between Harry and Ron grinning, her sides aching from all the laughter at Ron's swamp tale. They didn't often get to spend time together like they used to, due to their jobs and Hermione's apprenticeship and it was nice to be able to chat like they did in the old days.

"Why don't you owl them?" Ron queried after their more amusing discussions had died down, and Hermione informed them that she had to go join the end-tail of her family gathering.

"Ron, if my aunts ever thought I was unusual before, an owl carrying a letter from me would certainly cinch it. I'll have to phone them from my place to make sure I won't end up Apparating in front of Aunt Enid or someone." Hermione sighed as she put away her currently non-functioning cell phone, vowing to herself to sit down and figure out a way to get rid of the magical interference in cell phone connections.

"Well, you brought your bags and stuff. Surely you don't mean to take it all back to your flat?" Ron queried as he stood and grabbed a stray garden gnome that had been edging toward Hermione's purse and flung it several meters away, where it lay dazed, before stumbling in another direction.

"Obviously, I didn't think this through correctly," Hermione said distractedly as she picked up her two small bags and purse.

"You, not think something through, gasp, Harry what's the world coming to?" Ron joked as he elbowed Harry, who chuckled.

"Hush - Ron, Harry- honestly –" She turned to her friends to reprimand them, when two heads popped up behind her and interrupted.

"Did my ears deceive me Fred, does it seem we have a lady in distress?"

"No-" but Hermione was cut off before she could say anymore.

"Yes, indeed George, and it seems we can be of assistance. Follow us." Hooking their arms under Hermione's they began to pull her away, luggage and all.

"Really boys, it's not necessary –" said Hermione as she struggled to free herself from their grasp.

"Come now, what sort of gentlemen would we be if we didn't offer our fair lady aid?" Hermione gave up, finding resistance futile and allowed Fred and George to escort her toward the backyard. When they finally released her, she turned to scold the boys, when she paused and did a double take. Standing not five meters from her was a red, cast iron telephone box, slightly taller than her own height. It looked quite ordinary excepting three mirrors glued to the windows inside the box, a purplish feather duster tucked into the bottom most corner, and several small colorful crystals patterned across the back on the outside.

"Ta-da, fully functional as well." The twins indicated with a flourish.

Hermione shook her head in disbelief before turning to Fred and George suspiciously. "All right, what's the catch?"

"Catch, what catch? Can't we help a friend in need, from the kindness of our hearts?" inquired Fred.

"Help- yes, kindness – I have my doubts." Hermione glanced hesitantly at the phone booth.

"You wound us with your words, milady," George said as he placed his hands over his chest.

"All right where did you get it, and what did you do to it?"

"Do? Why no-" Hermione glared at them. "All right, dad brought it home from work, and tasked us to unstuck what's stuck."

"That's stupid," stated Hermione

"I know, we could be doing so many better things with our time– " began Fred.

"No, your story, you don't honestly expect me to believe that," said Hermione knitting her brows.

George exchanged a glance with his brother before speaking. "Fine, we nicked it -don't tell mum- and tried to get it to work here. It should work, but we still have some tinkering left to do, to completely transform it. Anyway, here are some coins. Have at it." George pulled out several sticky coins from his robe pocket that seemed coated with a purplish residue.

Hermione peered at their faces, looking for any trace of dishonesty. Finding none, she took the coins hesitantly and headed toward the booth to call her parents and make her arrival known.

Ron, who had followed along with Harry, turned to his brothers and asked, "No really, what's it going to do?"

"Nothing yet, Ronnikens. Why's everyone always so suspicious?" Fred frowned.

"Because they generally have good reason to be.... wait, what do you mean not yet?" Harry questioned.

"Oh that, we haven't hooked up our gizmo, yet," George said.

"I pieced it all together about an hour ago, why are you guys going to try it out?" added Colin who had just stepped outside.

"Uh-oh," the twins spoke in unison, before turning toward Hermione, who was currently standing in the booth, with a very bewildered expression on her face, as the telephone booth began to rattle and spark.

oOo

_3 minutes prior_

Leaving the boys behind, Hermione approached the booth slowly. It didn't seem threatening. Though with the twins one could never be too careful. Stepping inside she placed her bags onto the floor and picked up the receiver, depositing the coins the twins had given her. Before she could dial the number to her parent's home, a smooth female voice spoke. "Good afternoon, and to what location may I direct you?"

Hermione nearly dropped the phone in surprise. She looked at the receiver briefly before replying, "um. . . London."

"Please enter your destination time." The melodic voice responded.

She glanced out through the glass, puzzlement written all over her face. None of the boys were looking at her since their attentions were on the approaching Colin. Assuming that the telephone booth was asking for the current time she checked her watch. She saw it was already 7:56 pm, and quickly decided to base it on a 24 hour clock, before punching in 1-9-5-6. Suddenly the voice said, "Thank you. Please wait momentarily while we connect you to your destination."

Considering Hermione had not entered a phone number, she had a sinking feeling something was about to go very wrong. The phone booth was beginning to give off a flickering light. Panicking, she tried to push the glass doors open. She was able to open it a crack and wave her hand out before a voice came on and stated in a serene tone, "please keep your arms and feet inside the vehicle at all times."

'No' thought Hermione worriedly. She had a pretty good idea what was about to occur and it was a final destination she wished to avoid. 'This can't be happening.' She began pounding on the glass more incessantly. She briefly thought about using her wand, but realized that any spell that would cause the glass to shatter could have a seriously negative impact on her, given the small area.

She looked out through the glass windows of the booth and could see the boys yelling at her. She tried to make out what they were saying.

"Engage- hen – mirror?" What on earth? Hermione thought to herself. The yells from the boys grew louder as they moved closer.

"Disengage the mirrors?" How? Attempting to pull some of the mirrors from its place was proving fruitless, and they weren't being held up by the typical sticking charms. Hermione began to despair.

She turned back toward the boys for help. One of the boys had just reached the booth, and was attempting to pry the doors open. He offered her his hand, which she clasped, in an effort to pull her out of the rumbling machine. But it was too late and they both disappeared amid the crackling lights.

oOo

_Pop_. The telephone booth reappeared in a seemingly empty side alley, called Omlen Den. A slightly drunk wizard blinked his eyes at the structures sudden appearance. He glanced at his bottle of Ogden's and then back at the muggle contraption, before hobbling away toward the more crowded street.

Hermione let go of Colin Creevey's hand, and leaned her head on the door in front of her, which buckled open on her sudden weight, causing her to stumble out. 'Now it opens,' Hermione thought. She looked around dazedly, before walking limply toward a groaning Colin.

"Colin, Colin – are you all right?" Hermione slightly shook Colin, trying to see if she could elicit more than just the moans that Colin was currently giving.

"What happened – scratch that - I know what happened- where – er- when are we?" Colin grunted as he picked himself off the ground and dusting off the jeans he wore under a wizarding outer robe and began taking in his surroundings.

Hermione narrowed her eyes, having a strong feeling her hypothesis was about to be proved correct, "What exactly do you mean- out with it."

Colin looked bashful for a second before collecting himself and uttering the words Hermione had hoped not to hear. "We've traveled back in time, I believe, if that store is anything to go by."

Peering in the direction that Colin was pointing, Hermione had a sinking feeling that Colin was correct. A tall building stood in the middle of the street, looming over the other stores with the words "Morgana's Minks" printed directly above the front door. Plush coats and cloaks danced arrogantly in the stores window display, turning their backs on the poorer spectators that stopped to observe them. The infamous store was built in 1895 and served as a front for numerous illegal activities, with the highest discretion. Everything could be bought there or obtained at the right price. It was closed permanently in the late 1950's, when the Gringott's goblins discovered tunneling plans that would lead directly to the bank, thus exposing the business and its' numerous frauds. It was later mysteriously burnt down.

"I knew it, I knew it, Fred and George are so dead when we get back. So how do we work this thing, just dial in the year we want to go to, and viola, right? We're not stuck in 1956 forever are we?" Hermione grabbed Colin's hand dragging him back toward the telephone.

Wisely, Colin didn't correct her that it was technically his fault they were in this mess, in more ways than one. Considering her curly hair was beginning the spark and glimmer like the machine did minutes ago, he felt it would be a safer option to keep quiet.

"1956? Anyway, yeah, I just got to double check if the wire connections and capacitor in the back of the machine are good. Then we should be good to go back, ideally."

"Ideally?" Hermione raised her brows.

"Well technically, this was its' first voyage, and –" Colin paused as he stood around the back of the contraption. "Hermione, you better come here."

"What is it n – oh - "

There, lying on the ground was Professor Dumbledore.

oOo

"Oh, my goodness, Colin, we've killed him." said Hermione anxiously, seeing her former Headmaster's prone form lying next to her, his body still.

"We- but – oh gosh, this is bad." Colin turned away nauseous.

"Please, don't be dead, please don't be dead," chanted Hermione, as she knelt closer to Professor Dumbledore and turned him onto his back. Airway. Breathing. Circulation. The words ran through Hermione's mind, ingrained from the healer classes she had taken before quitting the program for her current apprenticeship. "Please, don't be dead." Reaching out she felt for a pulse with one hand, while getting a hold of her wand in another. Hermione then muttered a basic diagnostic spell under her breath. Several dark glows hummed around the Headmaster's more critical injuries. Hermione changed her mantra in her relief at finding him alive. "Please wake up, please wake up." Attempting to stem the bleeding, she whispered several Episky's over the cuts bleeding most profusely. She looked at him again, noting his breathing was still shallow and an abundance of blood matted his hair

"Colin he's alive, but we've got to get him to St. Mungo's." Hermione conjured a stretcher fit to carry the Headmaster.

"But the timeline!" Looking confused and frantic Colin wrung his hands together, his eyes darting to the opening of the alleyway wary of anyone that might intrude.

"Colin - the timeline will be in ruins if he dies and I can only stop the bleeding. I don't have everything with me to cure him, we've got to get him to the hospital." Hermione's panic had increased three-fold at Colin's mention of the timeline. She had frequently been told of the dangers of interfering with time when she had the time turner and now she had, though not on purpose, created the biggest blunder of all.

"What about the time machine?" asked Colin, as he hurried to shield the apparatus from view, so it would not attract any curious witches or wizards that may attempt an investigation of the unusual mechanism.

Hermione paused, acknowledging Colin's concern, it would not do to come back and find their mode of transportation missing, "Good point. You stay here, I'll take him." Hermione placed a blanket over the Headmaster. Then waved her wand to secure him and ensure they would not be separated in the apparation.

"You'll be seen!" Colin exclaimed worriedly.

Quickly disillusioning herself and the Headmaster, she worriedly turned toward Colin, and said, "No, we won't… we can't be." She then silently Apparated away with Dumbledore in tow.

"Hermione? Hermione? Are you still there?" Colin called out. Realizing she had indeed gone, he looked at the apparatus, which had begun to smoke. Groaning, he approached the back of the machine to survey if any damage was wrought in the booths travel through time.

Lost in his analysis of the machine, he did not notice the purplish clump of feathers inside the machine move. Poking its head from under a wing of feathers, black eyes observed its surroundings. Deciding things would be safer outside the machine, a familiar purple chicken stumbled out onto the stone alley. Once in the open the creature fluffed its feathers and stretched its wings, delivering a soft cluck of annoyance at the sight of its purple wings. Wings that should have been white in color.

Hearing a clatter, the chicken turned toward the sound and saw Colin working on the machine. The chicken observed him momentarily, an intelligent gleam in her eyes, recognizing him as one the trio of individuals that had used her like a common lab rat. She decided it best to make an escape.

"Where did I drop my wand?" Colin muttered. Looking around the dirty alley, he finally located his wand not even a foot away. Picking it up, he failed to notice a cluster of purple leaving the alley.

Beginning to work, he murmured, "At least things can't get worse."

.oOo.

A golden clock in the Hogwarts headmaster's office ticked away, the only break in the currently consuming silence and growing tension in the room.

"I'm dreadfully sorry; he should have been here by now." Wallace Rugen was extremely nervous, as evidenced by his hand running agitatedly over his now bald head. It was unlike Headmaster Dumbledore, to be so late. He glanced at the time, then at the polite young man who had been calm up until this point. Noticing the subtle signs of irritation on the young man's face, Rugen hastily added, "perhaps you can come back, so we may carry on the interview at a later date, when all parties are present."

The man briefly raised one of his eyebrows before replying, "I assumed a deputy headmaster, could carry on interviewing potential staff without assistance."

The man's assumption was correct and left Rugen stumbling over his words, "Yes, - but – that is to say… Headmaster Dumbledore was extremely insistent on his presence during the interview."

The man frowned, "Surely not that insistent, as he has yet to make an appearance."

Rugen hedged, "I'm sure something perhaps waylaid him." Then as if on cue, an owl came through the open window, brushing past the maroon curtains, and dropped a letter in the deputy's outstretched hand. Rugen unfolded the note and read through it. The notes contents must have been unsettling as color drained from his face. Taking a deep breath, Rugen made a quick decision, as he turned toward the seated party.

"You're right," Rugen began, "your credentials are impeccable, and your resume - the most impressive I've seen, in fact I believe you will make a fine addition to our staff. Welcome on board."

"Thank you, for entrusting me with such a precious task, after all that is what the minds of children are, I assure you, I won't disappoint." The man paused and before Wallace could say anything, he added, "I do hope everything is all right with the headmaster."

Wallace looked at him startled, "How did you – I mean – I just received word about his condition–" As Wallace blathered on, the man took note of the deputy's words as well as his surroundings. A mass of old volumes lined one of the walls, while trinkets decorated another. Of particular interest was a cupboard that was partially open, providing him a good view of what lay inside and what he hoped to later obtain.

The truth was he did not know what had happened, and was referring to the headmaster's absence. Quickly interrupting before Rugen turned into a blubbering mess, "What an unfortunate occurrence, I do hope his case takes a different turn, he will be in my thoughts. If you'll forgive me I must take my leave to make several necessary arrangements."

"Of course, of course… thank you for your well wishes … now let's see." Rooting through the papers in front of him, Rugen looked up, "I believe I have most of what I need. I will owl you the remaining paperwork."

"Excellent," the man said as they both stood up and headed toward the exit of the office.

"Oh, and let me be the first to congratulate you Mr. Riddle, or should I now say Professor Riddle, on your new Defense Against the Dark Arts post," stated Rugen somewhat jovially before bustling back into the office.

"No, thank _you, _Mr. Rugen."

It was perhaps a good thing that Rugen rushed back inside to take care of business. Else he may have reconsidered his decision on hiring Tom Riddle, if he saw malevolent grin that had spread across the future dark lord's face.

oOo


	2. Keys, Vaults and Dumbledore

_Previously: The twins create a time traveling phone booth that sends Hermione and Colin to the past accidentally. The time machine knocks out Dumbledore, keeping him from rejecting Tom Riddle from the DADA position, which Tom has great plans for._

* * *

Chapter 2: Keys, Vaults and Dumbledore

"Psst, Colin, where are you?" Hermione whispered, as her eyes darted around the dingy alley, its emptiness drawing a chill down her spine. Struggling to hear some sort of reply, her ears only met with the happy sounds of chattering friends, acquaintances and lovers strolling down the main street of the wizarding market only a few meters away.

A feeling of dread coursed through the twenty-three year old as her imagination began to run rampant. Images of chaos flooded her. A mugging. A fight. A struggle. Each scene more ghastly then the last. Death. Hermione's breath caught. Frantically she called out his name again. "Colin?" There was no reply. Her brows creased in worry, as she prayed that he had not been discovered.

_Click. Click. Click_. The sound of her heels resonated off the crumbling, faded brick walls. She scanned the walls and ground for traces of blood or magical upheaval. She took several more steps, before abruptly halting. There was nothing out of place. No boxes blown to bits. No colorful residue of magic glaring from the walls. Self-consciousness filled her, as another possibility took root. Perhaps he had left.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, as tears threatened to fall. Lost in time and now possibly alone, she had already become the past's wild card. The last few hours began looping endlessly in her head. Her endeavor to save Dumbledore had nearly ended in disaster. One life affecting many. How many would be destroyed?

_Flashback _

The cry of an infant filled the air. Hermione blinked at her colorful surroundings, before grimacing as she realized she had Apparated herself and Dumbledore into St. Mungo's maternity ward. She had forgotten the massive renovations that St. Mungo's had undergone decade's prior. Currently standing disillusioned inside a delivering mother's suite, she attempted to escape, Dumbledore in tow.

Turning she bumped into a jumpy, shaggy-haired wizard, who released the celebratory balloons he had been holding. As the balloons escaped his grasp, they exploded into twinkling lights and happy voices, startling the delivering mother. In between puffs of air the damp woman grappled with the wand at her bedside before proceeding to hex the man, her husband, into vomiting salamanders. As the slick salamanders fell from his mouth, the youthful wizard was led to the emergency ward to clear up the incident.

Careful of the salamanders, who where now cart wheeling and sliding across the slippery floor, Hermione followed the odd procession, being sure to avoid staff and patients, so the headmaster would not be jostled. Glancing at his pale face, a tear made its way down her cheek before she hastily wiped it away. No, it wouldn't do to cry now. She hurried her steps, and soon arrived in the Emergency Ward, which was bustling with activity.

To her right she could see a healer questioning a middle-aged wizard about the five extra hands the wizard had sprouted. As the healer was scrawling down critical information, one of the hands in question silently picked the youthful wizard's robe pocket of any valuables.

Shaking her head, she looked to her left, where a witch was attempting to herd four colorful goats that stood blocking an entrance. They were bleating loudly at the witch, with one goat butting her and grabbing her wand with its mouth.

Enraged the young witch began shouting at a pink and orange spotted goat that had her wand, "You boorish barnacle on a flobberworm. Give me my wand! … Don't look at me like that." The goat began to fuss at her words. "You completely deserved it. You scared Eli. You're lucky a goat is all I decided to turn you into."

She then turned to a green goat that was chewing on her robe. She tugged her robe free, before addressing the goat. "And you Augustus, you started all this." The green mass bleated in reply. "And don't give me that big brother speech again."

Hermione turned away from the oddity, her eyes skimming her surroundings once more, looking for anything she could use to help Dumbledore. Seeing an empty gurney she levitated the Headmaster onto it and removed the disillusioning spell from him.

She looked around, in hopes that the simple act of appearing would be enough to attract the attention of a nearby healer. Unfortunately none paused in their bustling. Hermione gazed down at Dumbledore, who was becoming paler and his breaths becoming shallower by the second. She itched to shanghais one of the available rooms and utilize any potions she may find to treat him. Yet, deep down she realized no good would come from this.

Quickly calculating her options, Hermione knew she could wait no longer. She spotted the healer, who had been treating the seven-armed man, draw near the medi-wizard's station. A prayer of apology passed her lips, as she decided that he would have to do. She walked toward the healer rapidly, wand firmly in hand, the clicking of her disillusioned heels lost in the loudness of the ward. Soon she stood directly behind him. Hermione hesitated, her thoughts warring with her at what she was about to do, before becoming resolved once more.

As the healer bent to pick up another chart, she grabbed his left shoulder, startling and jerking him from his bended pose. She jabbed her wand firmly into his back. He gasped. Lifting herself on the balls of her feet, her lips shifted precariously close to his ear. "Say nothing." She whispered hoarsely.

"Wha-" the wizard choked out in surprise, seeing no one as he turned toward the voice.

"Say nothing." Hermione repeated, attempting to make her voice as gruff as possible. She moved her wand to his neck, pressing it against his carotid artery in emphasis of what should happen if he disobeyed. She waited, attempting to still her shaking hand, hoping the healer would not call her bluff. The wizard stilled. Breathing a sigh of relief, she tightened her grip on his shoulder and directed the now silent wizard toward Dumbledore.

Their gaits were stilted and forced, as Hermione was continually required to nudge the man forward with her wand. The path before the duo parted, as others made way for the seemingly limping healer. Nine steps. Ten steps. They were almost upon Dumbledore. Just two more steps.

"Oy! Webber. What's with the lame leg act? Did one of the goat's ram you as well?" Healer Devius's booming voice questioned as he trotted up to the healer in Hermione's custody. Hermione became motionless as she waited.

Devius frowned at Webber's lack of reply. "Oy! Webber. Did the niffler's hoard your brain's?" He paused, scrutinizing the younger healer. "You're looking rather peaked." Devius furrowed his brows as the wizard began to blink his eyes rapidly and mime something with his mouth. The older healer tilted his head. "You're not making sense, mate." He slapped Webber's statuesque figure, hitting the slightly larger man's shoulder.

The move jostled Hermione and loosened her hold on the man. Webber took advantage of the momentary distraction and attempted to ward off his invisible attacker. A decision that proved fruitless as he swung his fist around, only to meet with air. Hermione had just barely ducked to avoid the blow.

Patting his robes for a wand, Webber turned toward Devius and gasped out, "dis- illus- uh- *hack* intru- der." Reaching into his back robe pocket, he finally located his wand and brandished it with a flourish. Hermione evaded the man again, hoping the wizard had not noticed the familiar glimmer of disillusion.

The situation had begun to escalate. Hermione absently noted that the other healer had disappeared, with the rest of the staff calling for the floor to be cleared. She moved toward Dumbledore, when a shot of light sailed past her. "_Stupefy_!" Her hope at remaining unnoticed dissolved. Her spell was beginning to give way. Turning, she saw the healer begin charging in her direction. Her eyes darted between the Headmaster and the healer. Seeing no other option, she waved her wand toward the healer and stumbled out of the way, just as Webber began to fall in Dumbledore's direction.

Nearly landing on the Headmaster, the healer gasped, finally seeing the bloody man before him. Thoughts of the intruder cast aside, he cast a preliminary spell, to assess the damage. The Headmaster's body was soon cocooned in a maroon light. "Bloody hell- Devius, Healer Rickets, we have a critical!" Webber began casting various stasis spells on Dumbledore.

Hermione swallowed as she heard this news. She held her breath, hoping she was not too late.

"Is that Prof- Headmaster Dumbledore? When did he come in? What happened?" Demanded another Healer that rushed in at the alarm. Strapping the Headmaster down, the Healer began administering several potions to the severely injured wizard.

"Rickets, we got to get him out of here. There's a crazed wizard on the premises, and I'm pretty sure he's responsible for the Headmaster's condition. We had no call ins." Webber looked around nervously as he and Rickets began carting Dumbledore away.

Rickets nodded, fastening another strap onto the headmaster, to prevent him from accidentally falling. "Devius told me. Called it in. We're now on official lock-down. Auror's should be here soon."

The healer had barely finished his statement when Auror's began flooding in from all directions, cutting off routes of escape with brutal efficiency. Hermione was trapped. She gazed around the room, which now bore a reddish cast from the auror's robes. She knew she would not remain invisible for long. Her eyes wandered over the area again in search of somewhere to hide.

"You," barked a harsh, gravely voice. Hermione, wheeled around startled, wand in hand, when she realized it was directed, toward a young, rotund wizard. Towering above him was a fierce- looking man, with a battle-worn face_. _Grabbing the youth by the arm, the Auror demanded, "You were closest to the assaulted. What did you see?"

The youth began sputtering fearfully. Hermione cringed as the interrogation nearly rendered the boy mute. Unable to take much more, she pointed her wand at the imposing Auror's robes and set them aflame.

The Auror unleashed a howl of outrage. Cursing, he released the man he had been interrogating, and shouted, "Dawes, Keyes, don't just stand there gawking, find the perpetrator!"

"Right away, Captain Hastings." A lanky auror, known as Dawes, replied, before hurrying off down a random corridor.

In the commotion, her eyes strayed to an empty patient's room that she could escape into. Darting quickly through the door she closed it tightly behind her, letting out a sigh of relief as she leaned against the door. The room was dark and sparsely furnished, limiting the number of places she could hide. Sensing her disillusioning spell on the brink of collapse, due to the heavy wards, she extinguished the spell, before continuing her analysis of the room.

Looking around for something that could aid her, she was drawn up short as she heard heavy footfalls down the hall. Not willing to take the chance of getting caught standing around the empty room she crawled underneath an empty bed and waited.

_Stomp.__Stomp._ The angry strides grew nearer. Hermione shivered as she listened further, hoping for the individual to pass. Soon the stomping ceased and silence permeated the air. Her heart clenched. She willed the boots to continue their march down the sterile hall. Her hopes were dashed as she heard the door to the room scrape open.

From her spot on the floor, she could make out the burned and frayed edges of the wizard's red robe. She could sense his eyes observing- analyzing. She was certain their hot rays penetrated the thick springs and cushions of the mattress. Her body tense, she waited. Waited for the boots to turn, the torture to cease, the nightmare to end. As if hearing her plea the boots began to turn back toward the exit.

_Stomp.__Stomp_. Silence. No more than a few steps were taken when the boots halted their forward motion. Turning again, the scuffed rubber soles began approaching her hiding place.

_Stomp. _The boots stopped in front of her. The scent of burnt leather infiltrated her nostrils. Nausea filled her as countless horrific scenarios ran through her mind. She could hear the rubbing of fabric as the person shifted. Fingers clutched the bedspread above knowingly. The mattress groaned from the resting weight of an arm as the person started to kneel. Hermione posed her wand anticipating the inevitable discovery, when the image of Platform Nine and Three-Quarters entered her mind. Altering her plan, she redirected her wand. The bending creak of joints was drawing closer. Forcing down the jitteriness that threatened to consume her, she murmured several words, before sinking through the floor below her, just as the face of Captain Hastings peered at the spot Hermione lay moments before.

Brushing through a solid object was an unusual experience and a feeling of displacement welled within Hermione as she fell through the floor. Her elbows bent, she braced herself for the fall and for any possible screams that would incur should she land on top of anyone. Thus, she was immensely surprised and grateful when she landed on a soft fuzzy cushion.

She gazed around the room from her fallen position and was please to note that it was vacant. Picking herself up, she snuck over to the door, pressing her ear up against it to make out any conversation.

"Honestly this stuff is grotty." Came a shrieky, high-pitched voice that nearly made Hermione recoil.

"What do you expect, Verona? Magical creatures don't eat people food, they'd sooner eat the people." A deeper voice replied.

Hermione froze, as she rapidly came to a sickening conclusion. A low buzzing hum filled the air. Dread coursed through her veins as she slowly turned around. The fuzzy cushion she had landed on earlier was clearly awake, its big, red eyes following her. It's jaws clicked loudly. The fuzzy creature somewhat resembled an ant, if the ant was the size of a pillow. She recognized it immediately. It was a Beeble.

She gave a sigh of relief. It was virtually harmless and largely feared people, as some wizards typically tried capturing it for its rich coat, which it shed twice a year.

Forgetting the prudence of a rapid escape, she approached the Beeble. It whined pitifully having had two of its six legs crushed. She softly cooed at the creature as she placing her hand on its head. The Beeble nuzzled into her. Using its distraction, she weaved a spell around its lame limbs, knitting them together. Abruptly the Beeble let out a brief but earth-shattering shriek. She cringed as realized she had forgotten three things: one how painful knitting bones can be, two a Beeble's shriek had a two kilometer radius and third to cast a silencing spell.

Her ears rang from the high-pitched squeal, leading her to rely on her remaining senses. It was then that the door through which she had been listening burst open, revealing the two aides she had heard chatting earlier.

"You're not authorized to be here!" Verona screeched, as the other male aide made to grab her arm and lead her away. His efforts were rendered useless, as the beast hurtled its small body at the wizard, knocking him down, and preceded to scuttle out through the open door.

Not wishing to be left behind, Hermione took her cue from the creature. She hopped over the fallen male aide and hurried after the creature. They wove through several nearly empty corridors, with observers assuming Hermione was trying to capture the run away creature. Suddenly the Beeble stopped, bounded up and leapt though what appeared a rather large laundry shoot. Hermione skidded to a stop. Eyeing the shoot wearily, she debated on whether to follow, knowing it was most likely safe as the fuzzy creatures had extremely good hearing, which aided them to avoid most dangers.

"You there, stop!"

Hermione turned; and saw the male aide from before. Glancing in the opposite direction, she noted in a reflecting mirror, that her other problem, Captain Hastings, was about to turn the corner. Without thinking further, she dove head first through the laundry shoot.

"O – ow." Hermione let out a short yelp, tumbling out of the shoot, into a pile of dirty laundry. She hoisted herself out of the pile just in time to see the Beeble scurry through an open door to the outside.

_end flashback_

She had immediately Apparated herself back to the site of their arrival, Colin's welfare at the top of her mind. Hermione wandered deeper into the alley, trying to contain the anxiety, worry and despair that were attempting to consume her. A missing friend, an injured mentor and she herself - lost in a place she didn't belong. She could feel her chest tightening in panic.

She forced herself to take a deep breath to allay her fears. Hearing a slight clatter, she turned toward the sound. Seeing another large group of boxes, she cautiously approached the cluster and attempted calling him once more.

"Colin, where – mmph." A hand closed around her, muffling her voice.

"Sssh, I'm here." The voice, which belonged to Colin, said, before releasing her.

Biting back a scream, Hermione wheeled around anxiously, her voice no louder than a whisper. "What happened? Were we discovered?"

Colin grinned sheepishly, "No, I just always wanted to do that, kinda of like in those thriller movies."

Hermione clenched her jaw, and before Colin knew what was happening, she slapped him across the face. "You idiot, you absolute idiot. Here I am worrying to death something happened. And here you are making games. Don't you care about Dumbledore! Don't you care if we possibly changed the timeline?" Her shoulders shook in building rage.

Colin took a step back, his expression changing quickly to one of concern, "I'm sorry, Hermione, I didn't think. I mean, Dumbledore's okay right? It's St. Mungo's. They fix everything, right?"

Hermione stared up at him in stony silence.

Colin continued his rambling, "Did he wake up? It was an accident, we couldn't have known, we couldn't have changed anything… could we?"

As she looked at Colin's desolate visage, she felt guilty. She should not have blown up at him. She should not have let her temper get the best of her. After all they were in this together. Her expression softened. "I'm sorry, Colin." She sighed, before continuing, "I don't know how he's doing. I ran into a bit of trouble."

"Trouble, you're okay? Right?" Colin looked worriedly at her, his eyes quickly darting and checking for any injuries.

"Yes, I'm fine. Nothing big really, just a little delay." Hermione hedged, nearly biting her tongue. A voice inside her head thrummed, letting her know in no uncertain terms the consequences she could have faced. She was well aware if an auror had caught her she would have been carted off to Azkaban without a trial. Deciding it was best if Colin did not find out, she changed the subject, "Where's the phone booth? Is it up and running?"

"Oh, yeah. About that… There's a slight, teensy, wincey, tiny, little problem." Colin bated his breath, trying to gauge Hermione's reaction, yet she stared back expressionless. He decided to plow forward, "After running a full spectrum analysis, no major damage was done to the machine, in fact everything's in perfect condition." Hermione let out a sigh of relief. "Except for one thing." She stared at him. "Er…the crystal." Her eyes narrowed at the young man standing before her. "It…er…it got broken."

Hermione pursed her lips, "Can we run without it?"

"Everything inside it evaporated," Colin wrung his hands nervously.

"Okay, but can we run without it?" Hermione reiterated.

Colin fumbled, his eyes shifting everywhere but in her direction. "The mirrors which amplify the power are in perfect order and the Lutetium condensing chamber is still intact."

Hermione growled frustratedly, "I don't care what is intact, I just want to know about what's broken- in particular- the crystals!!"

He shuffled away from her slightly, "Well... the crystals are quite common. It's just what was in the crystals that was a bit rarer..."

"Colin! The stuff that evaporated …how- important- is it!"

Seeing Hermione's piercing gaze flare up, he swallowed and faltered out. "It- It's what powered the machine."

oOo

"You last saw her jump through here, right, with the creature?" Auror Dawes asked a burly wizard named Julian.

"Yeah, I saw her. She ordered it to attack me. Verona can vouch; she was with me the entire time. Luckily, I'm the fastest wand this side of England or that _thing_ would have torn me to pieces. It's probably lucky we came in when we did, or she would have had the beasts overrun St. Mungo's. She cost this hospital a lot of Galleons. The Parkinson's owned that beastie you know." Julian groused, this was his third retelling of the story, and every time he told it, it became more sensational.

Striking a heroic pose Julian added, "Oh yeah, I also kept them from attacking the wing with the kids, write that down, too."

Dawes mentally rolled his eyes, having high suspicions about Julian's version of things but refrained from commenting, instead he scribbled notes on onto his parchment furiously with his quill.

Finally looking up he asked, "How did she look like?"

Julian sniffed, "A muddy, one of those wild ones. Short, maybe medium height, ripped trousers, and hair that looks like it got into a battle with a cat and lost. In short she looked like she was raised by a three-headed dog."

"Hmm, yes, I see." Dawes mumbled. "Well, thank you for your time."

"No problem, I think of it as a service. The fewer muds walking the streets the better." Julian chuckled as he walked away.

Auror Dawes headed back to his boss, his mind still on the information the burly wizard has given him. "Muddy raised by a three-headed dog." Auror Dawes muttered under his breath with a snort.

It was obviously full of tosh; who had ever heard of a Muggle-born witch being raised by a three-headed dog? Granted, she probably ran through the halls frantically and therefore looked quite wild, but there were no doubts in Dawes's mind that Julian had exaggerated what he had truly seen.

Once in range of Captain Hastings he lingered back, wary of his ill-tempered Boss, choosing to wait for the Head Auror to notice him.

After a moment the voice barked, "Don't just stand there like that... Dawes, report!" Dawes nearly tripped over himself in his rush to quickly get to the Captain.

"Anything about the wizard who attempted to off Dumbledore, and most likely burned my new uniform?" Hastings growled as he thought of his newly purchased robe, from Unicorns and Uniforms, which had become a causality earlier that day.

"No sir, not a trace, but we did have another case of a magical creature escape –"

"There can't be nothing. I want this building searched again, he had to have left something behind. It was a non-magical attack for Merlin's sake." He roared frustratedly. "Find the weapon, find something. I want to know who. I want to know why. I want to know how. If the damn wizard clobbered him with a troll's club, I want you to get it. Got it?"

"Yes, sir, very good, sir." Dawes gulped.

Hastings began waving him away, before stopping him again. "That magic creature thing- any connection?"

Dawes hastily clipped his spectacles on his nose and shuffled through his parchments.

"No sir, looks to have been done by one of those activists," Dawes finally concluded.

"Ah, well," Hastings sighed, "It was a thought."

oOo

Hermione leaned against the wall in the alley. "So we need some time-turner sand?"

Colin looked at Hermione; she looked exhausted. Her eyes fought to remain opened. Dirt smudged her face and arms. Traces of blood lingered on her hands. He did not want to unload his story on her, but if they had any chance of getting back to their own time it had to be told. He decided to start off by answering her question, "No, it was a special concoction made by Fred and George."

Hermione groaned, "I don't suppose you saw their brewing process?"

"Not quite, but there wasn't much brewing, there were only three ingredients." Colin recollected almost nostalgically the many explosive incidents that colored the twins trials, one had nearly leveled their apartment, such that they had to move back to the burrow temporarily while the house elves attempted to scrub the place clean, which would take some time as there were spots that even Mrs. Scowler's Magical Mess Remover could not clean.

"Do you know what the ingredients were?" Her tone indicated that she had no such expectations.

"Actually I do … as I supplied them." The cat was out of the bag, and he was pretty sure the questions would come. He wasn't disappointed.

The questions came like rushing water, rapid and without pause. "What? I thought you were a photographer? What were the ingredients? How did you get them? Are they very rare? They're not illegal are they? How did Fred and George rope you into this? And most importantly where IS our time machine?" After asking her last question Hermione indicated toward the empty space where the ridiculous contraption last stood.

"It took a bit of doing but I moved it." Colin puffed up his chest proudly.

"Where?" Hermione asked looking around the dirty alley, for any traces of glamour's that might be hiding their transportation home.

"Down there." Colin pointed to floor of the alley, where the lines of a trap door could be slightly made out. Hermione thought back to their arrival and though they had been rushed she hadn't recalled seeing it before.

As if sensing her thoughts, Colin answered her unspoken question, "I used my wand, it's warded, but I couldn't remember all the spells so it might be a slight distance to the bottom," he said as he lifted the trap door. "After you, my lady."

She looked down into the cellar Colin had created, noting the fact that there were no stairs. She shrugged her shoulders determining the bottom being not very far, and jumped down into the area below, Colin not far behind.

Once at the bottom, she lighted the area with her wand. Though small, it was structurally sound and there nestled in a corner, was the machine, as well as her bags. Impressed, she turned to Colin to tell him so, when she remembered her other questions.

"Well, aren't you going to continue?" At Colin's blank look she added, "Your story, the ingredients, how you got roped into all this."

"That, well, I suppose it's best if I start from the beginning." Transfiguring two small pebbles he found into chairs, "You'll probably want to sit down as this could take awhile."

.oOo.

"So you found something else to occupy your time." A croaky voice spat out, its owner a man with stringy hair, and a black burnt mark running over his left cheek.

"Yes, Mr. Burke, indeed I have found 'something else' as you put it." Tom Riddle placed his shop keys on the counter, and continued, "So as per our binding shop agreement, upon termination of this job I am handing over all the store's keys I carry, as well as any I hold." As he placed the keys on the table and slid them to Burke, a glow illuminated the room, signaling the transaction complete.

Burke stared at the man momentarily. A strange feeling came over him, as if he had forgotten something. He thought hard, trying to gauge what was wrong with the transaction. The man before him was extremely clever, such that he would not put it past him to manipulate the situation in some way. Finally giving up on his pondering, he grabbed the keys and bid Riddle a sharp farewell, before heading to the backroom.

Tom grinned. It certainly was a wonderful day, he could not have planned everything better himself. Stepping outside the shop, he Apparated back to his cramp but tidy flat. Burke should have been more careful about his wording of the initial agreement Tom thought without remorse. After all he just made sure not to _carry or hold_, the extra copies of the store keys he had made, thus satisfying the agreement.

Looking around his flat, he knew it would not take him long to pack. Taking this into consideration, he decided it best to first stop at St. Mungo's, to take care of some important business. The affair would require a vial from his cooling cabinet of potent potions.

After all wasn't it customary to give some meaningful little gift when visiting someone ill in the hospital?

.oOo.

Silence reigned briefly as Hermione processed all that Colin said, "So let me get this straight, since there was really no money in photography, you worked as a transporter of sorts, delivering rare and sometimes illegal items, to well paying clients, attributing the income to your photos." She paused before continuing, "Fred and George saw you delivering a Mercurian Blue Sparrow, from their joke shop and cornered you, asking you to supply them." Colin nodded his head, "In the end they discovered combining Sebal Stone, Liverwood, and Trow water, enabled time travel over greater periods of time than the typical time turner."

"Yep, basically that sums it all up." Colin said in a casual tone.

Hermione looked at him in disbelief, of all the things Colin could have told her this definitely wasn't on her to expect list. She decided to focus on the most immediate problem at hand- the ingredients. She rubbed her index finger along her upper lip, in thought, as her mouth pulled into a faint frown, "The Liverwood shouldn't be a problem, slightly expensive true but found in almost every apothecary. The Sebal Stone on the other hand, how in the world did you get your hands on that?! On second thought I don't think I want to know."

She began to pace back and forth restlessly. "Who supplies Trow Water? Most wizards think it a myth, while others highly debate its location, though to the best of my knowledge the lake that carries it is somewhere in Ireland."

Colin seemed to be highly relieved, "Well at least we have an idea of where it is, my supplier refused to tell me his source, as he had only had two vials –and those he only recently started carrying."

"Then what about the Sebal Stone? We can't march into the Department of Mysteries, just asking for it. It's been highly guarded since 1922." Hermione looked at him pointedly.

"Maybe I could get a job there, or I could try contacting some suppliers, after all they've been in the business for a while, and I know where some of the fronts they do business from are." Colin said as he thought through possible solutions to one of the problems.

"We really can't get by without money…" Hermione trailed off, as the seriousness of their situation hit even harder. "But to find a job in the 1950s…"

"…would be like changing history." Colin finished, picking up Hermione's train of thought.

The two sat in silence, coming to terms with the gravity of their state of affairs. They were in a time where they were not supposed to exist. They had no wizarding legal papers, no money, no friends, no home and no food. They were currently sitting underneath a dirty alley frequented by a drunk.

Colin spoke up hesitantly, "We already… most likely, anyway…changed history, with Dumbledore and all. Maybe the best thing to do would be to blend in, until we can figure out a way back home. I know of some places… we can get some fake IDs, registered wands… it would help us get some jobs anyway."

Hermione started nodding in agreement, before halting, suddenly remembering something. Standing up suddenly she looked at Colin, with the beginnings of what looked like a smile upon her face, "Maybe we won't need one."

.oOo.

"These robes are itchy." Colin complained.

"Well, you wanted to fit in, and most of the wizards are wearing wool robes." Hermione stated, her own robes swishing, as they climbed up the steps of Gringotts.

"Yeah, but they don't have to feel like wool robes."

Glancing at Colin, Hermione observed him before adding, "I still can't believe what you do for a living."

They entered the building and approached an available goblin. Hesitantly, she handed him a key that she had been wearing around her neck. A look of surprise crossed the goblin's face as he scrutinized it before his eyes narrowed speculatively.

"What be your business?"

Hermione said nothing. Her instructor Mr. Yigami had given her the key immediately after she had been accepted by the apprenticeship. Hermione smiled fondly when she thought about the instructor who had taught her so much, yet who always left her wondering about his sanity. The key was supposed to access an ancient vault in Gringotts; a vault that took over 100 goblins and 5 years to build. It was rumored to contain many secrets and a nearly endless supply of galleons. She was given strict directions not to use the key unless she was faced with an emergency.

Hermione could not see any emergency bigger than this, and so dragged Colin over to the bank. Her gaze locked with the goblins, as she remembered the one instruction that would enable her access to the vault, and hopefully some funds. Speak nothing.

Giving her what she supposed was a crooked smile, the goblin spoke again, "You's be the first to visit this century, our last one came in 1889, maybe you'll meet him down there. What's left of him, anyway." He laughed as he motioned for her to follow. When Colin attempted to join them, the goblin swiveled and bared his teeth, "You stay here. You have no key."

She gave Colin a reassuring smile and turned to follow the goblin. Passing the normal carts, they made their way toward the back of the bank, until they reached a lift. "After you," the goblin motioned, "and best strap yourself in."

Seeing a group of complicated fastenings, she began to tie them around her, but before she could clip in the last one, the goblin let out a cackle, and pulled a lever, sending them on a plunging free fall into the caverns below. Just when Hermione thought they would splatter on the bottom soon, or exit on the other side of the world, the lift began slowing gradually, before coming to a complete halt. Stepping out of the lift, she staggered slightly, before lifting her face, her eyes widening at the sight that lay before her.

The vault was a work of art, wrought with gold and silver, it bore multitudes of carvings. The diamond eyes of a hundred goblins glittered at her as they sat circled around a shifting dragon, who attempted flying toward her, his ruby teeth gnashing together in rage, before being stopped by his own trappings.

Lowering her gaze from the vault her eyes met a river of lava. The sweltering inferno it generated caused beads of sweat to trickle down her temples.

"Good luck," the goblin smirked.

Drawing her brows together in slight confusion, she wondered what the goblin meant, until she saw there was no bridge for her to cross. A problem Mr. Yigami failed to mention. She thought for a moment, trying to remember what she may have forgotten. The words ran through her head. Do not speak. Was there more? Her mind whirled around. He quoted someone. Don Marquis, who had spoken of blood. She strained to remember. Blood will tell, but often it tells too much. That was it. Mr. Yigami had told her not to speak, for the blood will tell.

But how? The question echoed with her brain. She gazed around the large chamber again for a clue. There did not seem to be anything that could help her, until a rolling rumble caught her attention. Walking in the direction of the sound she soon faced a large rock positioned at the edge of the treacherous river. She blinked uncertain as to how she could have missed the protruding stone. Carved into the stone was a smooth basin, filled with a swirling dark tar. As she peered at the tar it began to take shape. Soon a hungry face appeared from its depths.

Hermione grimaced realizing what was required. Turning to the goblin that had followed her, she grabbed a knife from his side armor, despite his protests. Taking a deep breath she made a superficial cut over the palm of her hand and allowed the blood to drip into the basin. The face frowned as the red liquid touched it, emitting a shriek of horror as it began to dissolve and transform. The whole room began to shake as slowly a bridge of rocks appeared before her and the carvings on the vault stilled.

Quickly crossing the bridge, she pressed her key into the vault's lock. The mechanical wheels turned and clanked as the vault slowly creaked open. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light.

'What in the world,' Hermione thought. Taking a few more steps inside, she rubbed her eyes hoping that she was hallucinating. Yet, the vault still looked empty. She shook her head, quietly grumbling about stupid instructors, and their stupid sense of humor. As Hermione turned to leave, she nearly tripped over a bag.

Picking it up, she examined it closely. It did not feel very heavy at all. She opened it swiftly and pulled out a small note. She stared at the three words written on the note:

_What you need_

Hermione puzzled over the words. She weighed the small bag in her hand again with some trepidation. Curious at what the vault decided to bestow her with, she peeked inside. On seeing the item her jaw dropped. She immediately tucked the bag into her robes and beckoned to the now irritable goblin that she was indeed ready to go back.

.oOo.

"Well, did you get it?" Colin inquired, as they stepped out of the coolness of Gringotts, into the heavy humidity.

"I got something." Hermione said mysteriously, before frowning, "I just hope it's enough."

Turning to Colin, she ordered, "Now let's go visit Dumbledore."

.oOo.

Finding Dumbledore's room was fairly easy, and even easier slipping past the staff. She expected the room to be sealed or warded in some fashion, especially after what happened earlier. Not looking a gift horse in the mouth, she dragged Colin into the room and over to where the headmaster lay. His cheeks were filled with more color than before, but he was no more active.

"Colin, we -" she stopped abruptly, "-we have to hide now." She pushed them both into a nearby linen closet, just as two people entered the room.

The closet was surprisingly spacious, it contained a few blankets and hospital gowns and a small traveling bag that most likely belonged to Dumbledore. Curiosity grabbed hold of her as she wondered who the visitors may be. Waving her wand she created a one way view through the door. The individuals slowly materialized in front of her.

"Here we are Sir," a girl giggled, staring adoringly at the dark-haired man. Hermione studied him, he appeared quite handsome, with the cut of his robes indicating that he was quite fit as well.

"Thank you so much, Gwen." The man said smoothly. "I hope I could have a little time alone with him."

"Oh, I don't know, Mr. Riddle." The girl said a little nervously.

"Please, Gwen, call me Tom, just a minute or so is all I need," Riddle smiled winningly at the girl.

"All right, Tom." The girl batted her eyes at him, before disappearing from the room.

Hermione's jaw dropped as did Colin's. Mr. Tom Marvolo Riddle, Mr. aka I am Lord Voldemort visiting Dumbledore? She idly wondered how he chose this name, though she admitted it was significantly better than Lord Voted Immoral, Immortal Dove Lord or Mild Tom A Overlord, other anagrams of his name, however appropriate they be. Anyway, whatever his purpose it could not be good, and Hermione just itched to jump out and hex him. Reigning the impulse, she stood still and observed.

"Well, well Albus, not quite all powerful now." Tom's eyes lingered on Dumbledore, a threatening flash glimmering from its green depths. A smirk graced his features while he eyed the Headmaster with intense hatred in his eyes. Hermione's breath hitched as he pulled out a vial from his robes with the look of a serpent ready to strike its prey.

* * *


	3. Vial Situations

_Previously: Hermione drops Dumbledore off at St. Mungo's, nearly being caught by Auror Hastings. Colin reveals his secret job. Riddle quits his. Hermione retrieves a mysterious bag from Gringotts' vault. Dumbledore receives several visitors, not all with good intentions._

Chapter 3: Vial Situations

A cold chill seemed to sweep the room, as Riddle smirked with a twisted satisfaction. His visage was reminiscent of an assassin doling out death. Frightening and merciless.

Hermione's fear intensified as she watched the vial inch closer and closer to Dumbledore.

Feeling a tug on the sleeve of her robes, she turned to Colin, whose large eyes fixated on hers inquiringly. No words needed to be spoken; the question was obvious and apt. What now?

What now, indeed? Should they make their presence known? From their position Riddle was most likely to hex first and hide their bodies later. She looked at Colin, who was currently miming several plans of attack, one of which looked like challenging Riddle to a game of golf. Or perhaps it was hockey or croquet?

In any case, Hermione surmised that Colin meant to bash Tom over the head with a blunt object, at least she hoped that was the point of his miming. Shaking her head, she stifled a groan and flicked her eyes to the pair not a few meters away. Riddle, who had been observing the Headmaster in silence, now placed a hand on Dumbledore's head and began turning it to the side.

Confusion colored Hermione's face, as most potions were meant to be ingested to take effect. Various thoughts ran through her head, perhaps he planned on using a more untraceable method. Gustatory? Auditory? The possibilities were put to rest, as Riddle firmly took hold of Dumbledore's ear. Realizing Riddle's intent, she pursed her lips determinedly and drew her wand; signaling for Colin to do the same.

They were prevented from any further actions when the door to the room burst open to reveal an angry Captain Hastings. His attention was drawn from the occupant, however, as he shouted for someone. Receiving no reply and grumbling about incompetent underlings, he turned his attention back into the room. However, his momentary distraction allowed Riddle to slip the vial back into his pocket and take a step away from the bed.

The Auror gazed at the unknown visitor with suspicion. "Who are you? Show your authorization." The normally offensive man held a defensive stance as he identified the potential danger radiating from the individual. He had seen his share of dark wizards yet none had ever emanated a tenth of this individuals power. He was Mephistopheles personified, with a pretty shell hiding his dark core.

Tom's lips curled up in a smile, as he turned toward the Auror and said in an innocent voice, "Are no visitors or well wishers allowed? I was informed visiting hours are not yet over."

Hastings eyes narrowed, danger or not, he was not a naive man. He easily sensed the lie pooling from the wizard's lips. "Don't play me a fool, boy. The issue of his condition has become an Auror matter, and therefore, authorization is needed to approach the patient in question. Do you have authorization?" The Captain's hand hovered over his wand holster.

Riddle deftly maneuvered around the question. "The staff assured that my visitation was not a problem."

"Did they now? I'll have to speak to them then. And Merlin tell, what were your intentions here?" Hastings questioned as he eyed possible strategic strongholds around the room. After the harsh several years the Hastings had, he learned that one can never let their guard down.

Riddle watched the man carefully, taking stock of his situation before replying, "I came here to gather information on the state of the Headmaster, to personally deliver to Deputy Headmaster Rugen at Hogwarts."

"A little old to be playing errand boy." Hastings taunted, attempted to provoke the man into slipping, as they circled each other regardingly.

Riddle's eyes flashed, before he centered himself and spoke evasively, "As part of Hogwart's staff, it was not merely obligation that brought me here, to Hogwart's ever beloved Headmaster."

To say Hastings was suprised would be an understatement. "A professor -eh?" He questioned, taking a step toward Riddle. "I should have suspected one of you would show up. But I also thought you to understand the importance of following protocol." He paused, positive he was close to trapping the man in his lies, "Which is why I hope you don't mind that I'm going to require proof."

"Not at all, which is why I'll owl the school at once, if you'll excuse me," and with those final parting words Tom Riddle disappeared through the nearby door, his robes billowing down the hall.

When Hasting recovered from his momentary shock at the abrupt departure, he tried following the man. He skidded around the corner after him only to find that he had vanished. His anger reaching a boiling point, he bellowed, "Dawes!!"

From behind him, the auror appeared looking worse for wear. Captain Hastings noticed none of this, "Where have you been you putrescent pustule?!"

Gasping for air Dawes replied, "Pixies, sir - creating havoc -"

Cutting off the poor man Hastings replied, "It was a rhetorical question you imbecile, didn't I say that you were NOT to abandon your post?"

"But-"

"No! No, buts. I don't want to hear excuses, next time you leave your post, I'll have you demoted to investigating pet plant disappearances, understood!"

Not waiting for a reply Hastings frustratedly pushed past several patients, and kicked another auror who had been kneeling down to tie his boots, sending him sprawling, while yelling, "Remember Moody, constant vigilance."

"Yes, sir," sighed Dawes resignedly watching his bosses' cloak flap away, before settling onto a seat just outside Dumbledore's room.

Meanwhile, inside the room, Hermione and Colin tumbled out of the closet the moment Hastings left the room.

"We've got to hurry." said Hermione as she waved her wand silencing the room, then pointing it toward Dumbledore's bed as she began to weave some wards of protection.

"What do you want me to do?" asked Colin over his shoulder as he peered outside the room checking to see if the coast was clear.

Pausing, Hermione thought, "The wards may take awhile, and we can't let Riddle get away. I want you to follow and track him."

"Who me?" Colin looked nervous.

"No, the invisible house elf next to you. Who else? Don't underestimate yourself, you're a successful transporter, which you couldn't be if you weren't sneaky. Besides it's not like I'm asking you to duel him, or anything, just keep your distance and find out where he's going, Hogwarts or home."

"You don't really think he's a professor do you?"

"Oh Merlin, I hope not, but we have to be sure." Hermione bit her lip imagining DADA with Riddle, as that would be the only class she knew he would want to teach, and contemplated the anarchy it would involve.

Nudging Colin toward the window, she continued, "Things will work out, now go. Riddle has to exit the building before he can apparate, so we still have a minute, I've run around St. Mungo's enough to know. We just need to create a small platform outside the window, which would place you outside the non-apparating zone, and allow you to apparate to the bottom."

She then grabbed something from her pocket and handed it to Colin, "Anything happens hold it and think of a message to me." Gazing at Colin, she impulsively hugged him, before whispering, "Good luck."

.oOo.

"Good luck?" Colin thought sarcastically, "She might as well said good riddance."

Currently Colin was being suspended upside-down in mid-air, with a large hulking figure grinning down on him. His wand currently an arms-length away, he clutched the coin Hermione had given him, mentally trying to summon a cavalry, to chop down the ogre like man in front of him. Why did he get roped into these situations?

It had started so simply too. He had managed to trail Riddle to a wizarding bar, where some exchange appeared to occur. The barkeep handed something to Riddle in a bag, for which Riddle gave him several coins before leaving the building with the item.

Things had taken a turn for the worst when Riddle stopped again, this time in front of two stocky, large armed men, Alric and Alton. Colin had become quite suspicious when Riddle said the oddest thing. "Madam Meade looks quite parched reading the Daily Prophet, I do hope you can entertain."

Riddle had then handed them the bag and disappeared in the crowd. Unfortunately Alric and Alton prevented him from making a similiar departure after Riddle, which was how he ended up strung upside down, praying for something large to fall from the sky and squash the meaty gorillas. He cursed his poor trailing abilities.

A wand was thrust into his face. "Curiousity killed the kneazle." Colin coughed as he inhaled the rancid odor emanating from Alric's mouth.

"I believe it's cat." murmured Colin. The man began to toss Colin like a rag doll with his wand. "Er- though kneazles are cat-like." Colin yelped trying to make amends for his statement.

"Look, the little mouse is still chattering, Alton, perhaps we need to get more creative." Alric wisecracked over his shoulder.

"No, no that's quite all right, I think I've had all the creativity I can handle for the day." Colin said, attempting to get respite from the tumultuous tossing.

"Ah, look the stupid thing's tired. Well it's up to Alton." Turning to Alton he began, "What do you think Alton, should we let him go?" He voice trailed off at the end, when he noticed Alton was nowhere in sight. "Hey, Alton, where'd you go?"

"Alton left," a familiar voice replied.

Dumbly Alric replied, "Where?"

"Over there, he was jabbering away, about impressing some witch named Alice." Colin nearly choked from laughter and elation, to hearing his friend come to his rescue.

"Why that, two-timing-" Alric's rage being cut off by Hermione.

She stated, "Yes, quite, you better hurry and teach him a lesson."

Forgetting Colin, Alric ran off toward Alton's supposed location, leaving Colin to nearly plummet to the ground head first, before Hermione caught him with a levitating spell.

Righting himself, Colin asked, "Where is Alton? And who's Alice?"

"Not going anywhere soon, and that's the name that was written on some gift the other ape was holding before I stunned him. Now come on, let's get out of here."

oOo

"Home sweet, fake home." Colin announced gratefully on reaching a bottom of their current abode, underneath the alley's stone floors. They had determined it was critical to regroup as their situation had escalated.

As Colin reworked the wards with Hermione, a multitude of questions dropped from his lips, "What are we going to do? No-wait- first- what was Riddle doing to Dumbledore? Cause from where I was standing, it looked like he was going to irrigate his ear."

Hermione snorted, "Hardly. You know the saying in one ear and out the other?"

"Yeah, of course," Colin said slightly puzzled as to where all of this could be leading.

"I'm pretty sure about it, but not exactly..." Hermione frowned as she paused, finishing up her part of the warding.

"Is it some kind of poison?" the young man questioned frantically.

"Well, no. Not really. I'm almost positive that Riddle was planning to 'leak out' most, if not all, of Dumbledore's knowledge," Hermione grimaced.

"What!?" cried Colin, frantically as he abandoned his ward work. "That's not possible!"

"You're right, generally it isn't as magical people have barriers that normally prevent this. Unconscious wizards on the other hand, not so much. So if I'm right, and if Riddle got the opportunity to pour the liquid into Dumbledore's ear, it would have engulfed his memories, thoughts, and everything else before exiting the other side, leaving his mind practically blank."

Colin sat stunned for a moment, before asking, "So what are we going to do? He'll probably try it again, most likely right in front of the guards. We can't stay there 24/7, and we still have to get the materials for the time machine, and if Riddle's teaching at Hogwarts.…. I hereby, declare us one-hundred percent screwed."

"What a positive attitude." Hermione teased. "Actually, it may not be as futile as you make it sound. I have something that might help us. It's -" Before she could continue, however, Colin interrupted.

"Hey, your phone's ringing!"

"Don't be thick Colin, we're in 1956, I highly doubt my cell phone is picking up any incoming calls."

"Are you sure? It's coming from your purse." Indeed, as Hermione grabbed her purse she heard a soft buzzing sound being emitted. Dreading what may be causing the sound, she placed it on the ground and poked the bag with her foot. The buzzing sound changed into a tiny growl and the purse gave a hop.

"It's alive!" Colin jumped before composing himself and turning to Hermione. "Come on, Hermione open it." He gave her a slight push in the direction of the purse. Moving two steps back himself he added, "Where's your Gryffindor courage?"

"I might ask you the same thing." She decided staring at the bag was getting them nowhere and pointed her wand at the purse, unzipping it magically.

Suddenly a little head popped out.

"Hey, it's one of those Mogwai, fuzzy-gremlin things. I didn't know they were real." Colin reached out his hand to pet it. When Hermione's hand closed over his wrist, stopping him from coming closer to the creature.

"Stop right there, they're not Mogwai."

"No? Wait - what, why? Is it dangerous, poisonous, crazy, evil?"

"Not quite, but it is mischievous and a stowaway." At her last words she turned to pointedly look at the small, fuzzy, large-eyed creature, who gave a look of innocence. She scowled before saying, "Beeper what are you doing here?"

Happy to be free of the enclosure, Beeper bounced out of the bag and rolled over to her feet. Then quick as a flash zipped up her robes and onto her right shoulder. Pulling Hermione's hair around it like a blanket, the creature proceeded to let out a stream of chattering sounds, while gesturing with its paws and utilizing Hermione's curls in its story telling.

Colin looked on in amazement "What's it saying?"

Giving Colin a look that clearly said he must be joking, Hermione replied somewhat sarcastically, "Let me consult my Nargle to people dictionary." Her tone shifting somewhat, she continued, "Though if I would have to guess, I think he's telling me how he ended up in my purse."

Turning back to Beeper she said amusedly, "So you're why the garden gnome at the Weasley's wanted to make off with my purse."

She looked back at Colin, and noted his slightly dazed expression worriedly. "Colin? Colin? Are you alright? You look as if you accidentally swallowed a Horklump."

"Stop, you had me at Nargle. You said Nargle, right? I'm not going partially deaf am I? Or you're not going partially loony, are you?" Colin gazed upon Hermione, as if she had suddenly declared herself a goat. "Er - it's not a time travel side effect is it?" Stopping dramatically he then began to announce, "Because there are no -"

She interuppted with a slight smile, "Yes, I said Nargle and no deafness, looniness, or side effects, whatsoever. Promise."

"But Luna-"

"Yes, I believe I currently owe her 47 different apologies, the next time I see her. So again, this is a Nargle, at least that's the name the villagers of Mistletoe gave it, they absolute infest the town. And yes, before you say anything else Luna's description was pretty accurate. They are energetic, curious, mischievous thieves." Glancing at Beeper she said, "And no that is not a compliment."

"So how did you two -"

"I caught him stealing my socks," she paused, then smiled as she thought of something, "and that is how we can help Dumbledore."

"By stealing socks for him?" Colin considered himself by no way slow, so was slightly baffled at Hermione's abrupt and jumpy line of thinking.

Glaring at Colin Hermione added, "No, that's absurd. No, we use Beeper as a sort of watchdog, -er, watchnargle, to keep tabs on Riddle." At the mention of his name, the small Nargle's ears sharpened.

"I thought they steal things?" Colin asked.

"True, but they make awfully sneaky spies as well."

"You seem pretty certain about this, which of course begs the question how?" A mischievous grin formed on Colin's face, "You've done this before," he crowed.

"No, well, sort of, but it wasn't for anything illegal." Hermione stuttered.

"Sure it wasn't. Alright, alright no need for the death glare. How do we drop Beeper off then? We can't just deliver him in a package." Seeing Hermione mull over this, he tried changing the subject. "Okay, why don't we get back to that one? I'm currently starved. Why don't we get something to eat and then you can tell me the rest."

"Rest?"

"You know, the thing that may help us, you weren't just talking about Beeper, were you? Cause I wouldn't say he's a big help right now. Ow -, the little mongrel just bit me." Colin grabbed his hand checking the wound.

"What did you expect? Though I probably should have told you that he's a bit sensitive," stated Hermione as she cuddled the little creature, who currently stuck his tongue out at Colin. "Well, let me start out by asking, what do you know about the Twinkle's?"

"You mean the kid's story, the Twinkle's Toy Treasures?" At Hermione's nod, he continued, "Not much, bunch of greedy wizard kid's toys attack them until they make nice? And they go hoppity-hop away toward the sunset."

"I see you've heard Beatrix Bloxam's version," she frowned and gagged, "No, tell you what, let's get something to eat, like you suggested, then I can fill you in on the tale of the Twinkle's Terrifyingly Terrible Trinkets, and how I now possess the key to their treasure chest."

* * *


	4. The Twinkles and Tom Riddle

_Previously: Riddle's devious plot is foiled unintentionally by Hastings, who has anger issues. Colin trails Riddle. Riddle pays two goons to rough up Colin. Hermione confuses said goons, rescues Colin. They meet Beeper, a time traveling Nargle stowaway. Hermione reveals the key she found in Gringotts vault.

* * *

_

Chapter 4: The Twinkle's Trinkets and Tom Riddle

_Half a world away, in a location largely unimportant_

The cry of seagulls filled the morning air, voices to the ocean's symphony of crashing waves. An old man in white robes sat in his regular sandy seat, allowing nature's music to wash over him. His peace undisrupted even with the arrival of a pair of pounding feet and loud calls for attention. When the calls ceased, he turned his head toward the now quiet but still frantic individual. Nodding his head, he bade him speak.

The words were said unevenly, as the young messenger had still to collect his breath, "Sir, we've received a call from the Gringotts Goblins, one of our keys has been used!"

The old man's grey eyes sparkled, "Indeed? I realize though it happens seldom, I see no calamity. What did our endless vault decide to supply them with?"

"An item of great consequence, the Key, the wretched Key, the Key that should never have seen the light of day." the youth lamented.

Slightly amused by the boy's dramatics, he replied, "Cease your wailing, we do not apprentice thieves, or those dark of heart. Safe hands hold the Key."

The youth kicked the sand in frustration, "You don't understand, you should be fearful, the magical tracings of the person standing in the vault did not match any of our current or past students. It is not a student, but a thief that currently holds destruction in their hands."

The old man stood, sand falling from his robes, and furrowed his brows in thought. Several minutes passed before he spoke again. "Blood was spilt, was it not?" Receiving a nod, the old man replied, "Our blood tells stories, intent. This person you speak of are they good or bad?"

Grudgingly the youth replied that the magical history in the blood revealed them good. On hearing this the aged man settled back into his seat in the sand, before answering in return, "Then tell me why I should fear a good person, no matter what they hold?"

.oOo.

Fear was a powerful motivator. Yet, care must be taken to preserve the delicate balance of rewards and consequences in any course of action. This was why the twenty-nine year old Tom Riddle was exceedingly careful on his return home. He had caught his trailing shadow, and felt the paid pummeling should have instilled fear, or at least caution, into the man, but it was not a certainty, and should therefore not be treated as such.

Entering his abode, he reworked his wards, promising any witch or wizard that entered without permission, great pain. Settling onto his sofa, he pondered the days events. He disliked being set back in his plans, as it would require more work for him.

He had hoped to be currently analyzing Dumbledore's thoughts and knowledge for items of benefit. It mattered little if the result of his potion left another without memories of their own, or that if Dumbledore were to wake up it would be in practically an infantile state.

Something had to be done of Hastings, the interloper in his scheme. In his eyes the options were simple, men must either be flattered or eliminated. He knew in his experience that a man will readily avenge. So precautions had to be taken so that any offense he may cause Hastings would not incur a vengeance, thus creating greater problems for him.

The spy had left him unsettled, which of his plots were revealed? A cursory glance of the man's features revealed an unfamiliar face. Ordinarily, he would have confronted the individual, but time was of the essence.

A tapping at his window sill roused him from his ruminations. An owl perched on the window's ledge demanding admittance. Standing, he approached the large feathered creature and ran a cursory spell on it. He allowed the bird entry after finding nothing suspicious. The owl irritated to have been kept waiting, sent several books sitting on a nearby table crashing into the ground, before dropping off the letter it had been carrying and fluttering out the way it came.

Quickly perusing the contents of the letter, Riddle then set it ablaze, before picking up the books that had fallen. He paused at one of the books, however, one that was well-worn, and nearly falling apart. Staring at it he deliberated its destruction, as it would not do to be found with such a text.

He had saved it from disposal at the orphanage when he was eight. The old muggle woman in charge had originally thought it a fairy tale book, as it's title The Prince had suggested to her romance and adventure, until opening the first page, and deciding it inappropriate for young eyes. She disposed of the book immediately.

Yet, in Tom's young eyes anything that dissatisfied the old lady, most likely held tremendous value. So he set about retrieving the book, by Niccolo Machiavelli, and read it from cover to cover, finding true wisdom in the author's words.

In his years at Hogwarts, he was greatly disappointed to realize the man he greatly admired was nothing but a lowly muggle, after months of trying to find proof to the contrary. He rid himself of any conflict when he decided it was best to know your enemy, and so the book stayed with him, the pages memorized. However, he could not reconcile keeping it now, its discovery only serving to hurt his cause.

Lighting the logs in his fireplace with his wand, he paused momentarily, tracing the title words with his index finger, before abruptly tossing the book in. Flames curled around the words bound in the book. Riddle gazed into the fire, his eyes dark. He made out a sentence, before it was consumed. A sentence that would come to haunt him in the weeks to come.

"A wise prince must observe and never remain idle in times of peace but vigorously take advantage of them so he can be ready for times of adversity, so that when fortune changes, she will find him prepared to resist her." (1)

.oOo.

"Marshmallows, chocolate frogs, or popcorn scary?"

"Huh?" Hermione looked at Colin cluelessly, as they raided the last open outdoor vendor for a few provisions to tide them through the next day.

Earlier they had trudged down several alleys in the magical community searching for an open establishment that served any type of cuisine. Yet, due to the lateness of the hour, most businesses had been closed for the night. Except for Fickle Fryer Finks Fare, a grubby looking building, whose griminess thankfully did not extend any further than the front door. Hermione was able to pay for their meals with the last few sickles she had in her pocket, and though she knew it ridiculous, was grateful the waiter didn't check the date the coins were minted.

"The story, is it marshmallows, chocolate frogs, or popcorn scary? After all any story that contains the word terrifying in its title, needs an appropriate snack food." Colin replied in response to Hermione's confusion.

"I'll leave that up to you to decide." Gathering a few more items, Hermione added, "Are you sure you can afford all this? Back at the restaurant you said you didn't have any money on you."

Defensively Colin replied, "Can't a bloke misplace a moneybag or three?" Truthfully he found out just how useful nargles can be. For Beeper, in observing Hermione exchanging money for food, disappeared before promptly reappearing with several moneybags, which it presented discreetly to Colin; most likely fearing a scolding from Hermione, who was currently spoiling the naughty nargle.

"If you say so." After paying for their purchases, they hobbled back to their makeshift dwelling, and settled in.

"You don't think Riddle will come back to St. Mungo's tonight?" Colin inquired, while transfiguring an extra shirt Hermione had in her bag into a blanket.

"Doubtful, but the safety wards I put around Professor Dumbledore, would alert us if anything happens. Hopefully he'll wake up soon. Otherwise we'll need Beeper to somehow alert us, or we'll have to take turns standing watch." Hermione sighed, "With any luck, I'll get it figured out in the morning."

"Wouldn't the wards be enough?"

"Not with aurors standing by. I believe they refresh their own spells and wards at least every twenty-four hours, which would disrupt my spell-work and make it unreliable." Hermione let out a yawn.

"Not so fast Mum, I'm still waiting to hear my story." said Colin as he chewed on some gummy bears.

"All right, no interruptions understood." As Colin nodded his head in comprehension, Hermione pulled out her wand to aid in illustrating her story, and quickly palmed the key itself in her other hand to assure herself of its presence.

Ready she began the tale, "On a large estate, hundreds of years ago there resided two wizarding children named Toby and Tonya Twinkle."

"The family sure liked the letter T. Didn't everyone have a T name? Their father wasn't he called Tiberius, or Timothy or Thor?" Colin interjected.

"Thomas, actually." Hermione supplied.

"Huh…well Mr. T pities the fool." Colin struck a muscular pose. Hermione gave him a strange look. "Mr. T –gold chains-" Colin attempted explaining, to Hermione's growing confusion. "Hey, don't you ever watch the telly- Rocky III?" Colin frowned, rustling through the bags for more treats.

"Yes to the telly and no to Rocky. Anyway, their father, Thomas, was a spell master, with a knack for creating some of the most rare and unique magical items. He showered his children with everything they wished to have, magical sacks that had never-ending supplies of their favorite treat to tiny boxes filled with tiny instruments that played their favorite music on command to the most precious items, rare stones, gems, powders, herbs."

"They must have been as spoiled as Malfoy." Colin commented, fluffing his pillow.

Hermione shook her head. "They were beyond spoiled, they make Malfoy look angelic by comparison."

"That bad?" Colin looked at her disbelievingly.

"That bad." Hermione raised her wand to produce an illustration of the children. "The children were very popular though, as everyone clamored to see Toby and Tonya's toys. One day though on arriving to the playground with a new trinket, they saw the other children huddled around a boy with a small broom. Unimpressed the Twinkle children began to mock him, teasing him about giving a sweeping demonstration. The boy then hopped onto his broom, which lifted him up into the air, and proceeded to fly circles around the Twinkle children."

"Ow, burn.." Colin cursed.

Hermione looked at Colin startled, her concentration broken from the running images, "Ah, yes, I suppose it was quite a slap in the face for the children."

"Huh, No- well-yes that too. But I really burnt myself." Colin brought his finger to his mouth, attempting to soothe the slightly red finger. "The popcorn bags HOT."

Hermione covered the left side of her face with her hand in subtle amusement. "Are you alright?"

"Mmm-hmm." Murmured Colin, who was now happily munching on the popcorn at hand, pain forgotten. He swallowed. "Don't let me stop you."

Smiling, she resumed her illustrations. "Alright. Well angry at being upstaged, they called for their father to build something more impressive to show off to the other children. He obliged by creating a glorious truth stone shaped in the head of a snake. He told the children if they were to look into its eyes, it would give them true answers to any question asked regarding the past or present, but cautioned them to not look into it's eyes for very long as one may not like all that is seen."

Colin interrupted. "That is totally Indiana Jones. So do they go totally insane?" He spun around and did a little jig. "Wait are there aliens? Does the key open an alien spaceship? … That would be awesome, we could create a timewarp, ala Star Trek. Yes!!"

Hermione looked at him bewildered. "I think you should ease up on the sugar, but to answer your questions. No, sorry."

He pouted. "This story just went down-hill for me."

"Hopefully, this next part makes up." Hermione stated. Waving her wand they were soon watching a playground setting. "They returned to the playground intent on showing it off. But the other children were still enamored by the toy broom, which the little boy was sharing with them, and refused to see what Toby and Tonya brought. Furious Toby grabbed one of the younger children, and forced them to gaze into the eyes of the stone snake, the child's nose began to bleed as she gazed into the snake eyes but still Toby didn't let go. Not even when she began to cry green tears, did Toby release his grip."

Colin gaped. "That is one messed up kid. So far my theory is holding. Insanity. Next aliens." He grabbed a jellybean before frowning at its metal taste.

"That's only the beginning." Hermione explained. "Only when he saw one of the parents approaching did he free the child. They ran back home to their father. They weren't the slightest bit contrite. They blamed their father, and ordered him to make something even greater. He obliged by creating a cauldron of immortality, so that whatever be dipped into it's waters would gain eternal life, yet he cautioned the children to never enter the waters themselves, as it was not meant for people, but for the lower creatures and plants."

"Oh wait… it's mummies isn't it. Immortal. Real Egyptian mummies." Colin excitedly concluded. He pointed his wand at a wide-eyed Beeper, who had been listening to the story in fascination, and wrapped him in a mountain of bandages. The Nargle began chattering angrily as he slashed through the bandages. Finally free, he bared his small pointy teeth at Colin, before scuttling over to Hermione's lap.

Picking the Nargle up, she cuddled him, before turning a stern gaze at Colin. "Colin!! No and no mummies. Apologize."

"Just a bit of sport." At Hermione's look of warning, he sighed. "Fine… sorry, Beep. There. Now can we move on."

Satisfied, Hermione continued, "Well, happy at the thought of creating non-wilting roses, the Twinkle's skipped toward the playground once more. The little girl from before was not there, traumatized the stone snake. Toby and Tonya tried tempting the children by placing flowers and other plants into the cauldron in a demonstration. When the plants were retrieved they held a wondrous immortal glow about them, but the other children were not impressed, and one claimed it too boring a toy."

"Bad choice of words kids." Colin grimaced at the thought of the expected retaliation.

Hermione nodded in agreement. "Yes, quite. Incensed Tonya pushed the speaker into the water's of the cauldron. Yet, as the father warned the cauldron was not made for people, and so when the young boy emerged from the waters he too contained an immortal glow, but was as silent as the plants the children placed in the waters, being robbed of his ability to speak. They left quickly, so as not to be scolded, the Twinkle children ignored the results of their actions and instead plotted on how to convince their father to create something even better."

"Greedy little buggers." Colin frowned as he wrapped a blanket around himself.

"That's not the half of it." Hermione commented, before returning to the story. "Their father refused, he was falling behind on the orders of other customers and didn't have time, but the children begged and pleaded until at last he relented, but cautioned it may take a few days to prepare this miraculous toy. A week passed before finally, the day came when their father announced he was finished creating a special piece just for them."

"What was it this time? A robotic transforming car, hell-bent on destroying earth." He paused, chewing on a Chocolate Frog. "That's what the key is for isn't it?" His face lit up excitedly. "I hope it's to a Killer Ferrari."

She nearly had no words. She looked at Colin in stupor for a moment. "No. Not at all. No spaceship, no car. I told you earlier… it opens a treasure chest."

Colin looked depressed. "Really, well that's kinda boring innit?"

"Yes- no- let me finish." Hermione stumbled back to the story. "Where was I? Hmm, yes. Their father held out his left hand to reveal a star-shaped lock of some sort. Disappointed –"

"Completely." Colin looked downcast.

"Disappointed," Hermione looked at him pointedly, "at the size of the object, they queried their father on it's function. He revealed it was the lock to their new treasure chest. He then held out his right hand which contained a key, and explained to the children how to use it."

"With the lock each point of the star accessed a different treasure chest, one filled with rare magical stones and potions ingredients, the second with treasure maps, a third with magical books. The fourth was a chest of requirement: anything the children imagined would appear from inside its walls, and a final chest lay empty, for the children to fill with all the knick-knacks and toys they have gathered through the years."

"That sounds sort of neat." Colin interjected.

Hermione gave a knowing smile. "He cautioned that only one chest could be open at a time and in order to gain access to the treasure chests, the dial with the arrow had to point to the desired trunk, before inserting the key, which would then allow the trunk to appear and be opened. Once the trunk was locked with the key it would disappear back to where it came from leaving only the lock. He stressed the importance of not losing the key, as the lock could not be opened without it.

"Ignoring their father, Toby and Tonya, filled the empty trunk, before running to the playground confident that this was something the other children would admire."

"I'm guessing that's a no?" Colin questioned.

"You guessed right." Hermione absently patted Beeper's head as she continued. "Furious the Twinkle children unlocked the trunk of requirement madly wishing for something that would make the other children sit and notice them. Then opening the chest a black smoke curled out, engulfing the other children in the playground.

"When the dense black cloud finally lifted, there sat Toby and Tonya's playmates, neatly lined up in front of them, inanimate forms of their previous selves. Tiny toy dolls. Frightened Toby and Tonya did not know what to do, they tried wishing for the trunk to undo its dark magic, but nothing happened. They tried to find something in the other chests to aid them, but it was useless, nothing could be done. The parents would be arriving soon, to gather their children home. Toby and Tonya collected their now small and inert playmates, and hid them in the fifth chest that they had earlier filled with their knick-knacks. They then ran home as fast as their legs could carry them."

Hermione looked at Colin, expectantly for an interruption. Yet, none came. She continued.

"Arriving home they cried to their father, to undo the wrong they had unknowingly done. Disappointed with his children their father nonetheless agreed, and asked them to bring him the doll-like children. Eagerly the Toby and Tonya brought out the lock, but woe befell as they realized they had lost the key, to open it and retrieve the children trapped inside. Angry the father sent them away, and made them vow never to return until they righted their wrong and found the key."

"Leaving their home that was the last time the children were seen. And as legend goes the Twinkle children are still said to be seen searching for the key even today."

Wide-eyed Colin's jaw dropped at the conclusion of the story, "Okay that was completely different from the version I heard, and actually really bizarre. But unless you're thinking about locking Riddle in the trunk I don't see how it would help us, and besides we only have the key not the lock."

"There were five trunks, one of which had precious stones, and it's rumored that the Sebal Stone was among them, also the immortal water in the cauldron, is the Trow water we need for the time machine." Hermione said pointedly.

Colin rose his brow skeptically, "I don't know, won't breaking into the Department of Mysteries be easier? As I said before we don't have the lock."

Hermione grinned, "You're right, we don't, but Dumbledore does."

.oOo.

"Do you think he'll ever wake up?" Colin asked, as they sat eating ice cream in front of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. They had just come from St. Mungo's, and were disappointed to learn that there was little improvement in Dumbledore's condition.

"Maybe I can brew something, or do some spell, I hate feeling like this. It's all my fault." Hermione jabbed viciously at the runaway cherry in her ice cream bowl.

Colin stayed silent. He felt even more responsible than Hermione. Yet, deep down he knew it was an accident neither of them could have predicted.

Grabbing a discarded Daily Prophet from a neighboring table, he tried to find something that may serve to cheer Hermione up.

He flipped through several pages when his eyes alighted on a rather humorous story.

"Hey Hermione, listen to this." Colin cleared his throat to gather her undivided attention.

Raising her head from her ice cream bowl, she gave a morose sigh, "Hmm?"

"Cha-cha chicken chooses dancing over love- Malfoy heir heartbroken." Colin read in his most journalistic voice.

"What?!" Hermione gave a start, her spoon clattered against the rim of her bowl.

"I know!" Colin stated excitedly. "Normally, I'd say rubbish. But it's in the Daily Prophet. Plus – pictures." Colin eagerly leaned over the table and pointed to the wizarding photo that showed a young blond haired boy crying as a purple chicken danced around him.

"Is that Lucius Malfoy?" Hermione questioned.

"Yup." Colin pulled the paper from her grasp and continued reading. "According to Cecily Spy. 'The beloved chicken that warmed our heartstrings with her cha-cha outside the Ministry of Magic, has moved on to line dancing. She was caught practicing her new dance with two-year-old Lucius Malfoy outside of Trinity Toys. Proving once again the magnetic effect the Malfoy heir has on chicks all shapes and sizes.'"

Colin and Hermione broke off in a fit of laughter at this statement.

After catching his breathe Colin, read further. "Yet this dynamic partnership, tragically ended when the young Malfoy heir proved too forward; pulling several feathers from the frolicking chicken, who quickly turned ferocious. The elder, Abraxas Malfoy, who labeled the chicken a public nuisance and a danger to young children, quickly broke the melee apart. He has since called for the chicken's arrest."

"I bet he did." Hermione wiped a tear from her eye. "Lucius didn't even get a bruise. And honestly heartbroken? Is this woman related to Skeeter?" She laughed.

Hermione gave Colin a large smile. "Thanks, I needed that."

"No, problem. Though I have to say the chicken is certainly familiar" Colin turned to next page of the paper and paused. An even larger grin broke out across his face. "I think this will brighten your day even more." He looked at an expectant Hermione, "Which would you rather be? A Divination Assistant or a Flying Instructor?"

Hermione raised her brow at the question. "That's not very brightening…You're making me choose between two of the worst jobs in the world. I say neither, why?"

Colin's eyes took on a scheming gleam. "Well, we could always pretend to be students, but it seems Hogwart's is still lacking some staff, after what happened to Dumbledore." His gleam dulled slightly after his mention of Dumbledore.

He brandished the advertisement in front of Hermione's eyes that called for all capable applicants to apply. Hermione skimmed the text. Indeed as Colin had stated there were two positions open, a Divination assistant - who was to take over teaching briefly when Madame Warble went on maternity leave, and a flying instructor to take over for Professor Getaway, who had retired last year.

A similar glint soon appeared on Hermione's face, "How perfectly brilliant." They could now find out for sure if Riddle was teaching at Hogwarts. Though as she thought about it, she was not sure why he would lie about such a statement. Also they could search for the Twinkle's lock, as she was positive Dumbledore would have hidden it in Hogwarts. The only thing left to do was to guarantee being selected for the spots.

"Come on, Colin, we have some applications to fill out."

.oOo.

"Well, we achieved half our goal." Colin said morosely. They had spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon, corresponding with Wallace Rugen, in regards to the positions. He had initially denied them, saying they were too young for the positions. This served to only infuriate Hermione, who felt she was more than qualified to be a Divination assistant, all future professors considered.

Exasperated she decided to go to Hogwarts and stage a show for the Deputy Headmaster. She put on her best Trelawney impression, and entered his office muttering about sensing doom and death from the pages of the Daily Prophet.

Nonplused Rugen had been about to show her the door, when she cleverly let slip some facts she had read in Hogwarts a History, about Rugen himself. Surprised, he hired her on the spot and asked her to give him a reading when term started in a week.

She left the office very pleased with herself. Yet, the same could not be said of Colin, who was currently moping.

Hermione looked at Colin consideringly, "Buck up, I have an idea, but we'll need access to one of the supplying places you work for in the future." Cheering up considerably, Colin began chattering about the do's and don'ts, when requesting an item.

.oOo.

"You will find out when the time is ripe. For now there is no need for me to tell you, for we barely have time to put things into action, let alone discuss them." Riddle said to the man sitting opposite him.

"Do you doubt my loyalty? Even if there was not the profit you mentioned, and which I'm hoping for, I find myself quite eager to partake in this scheme." The blonde haired man stated.

"Indeed, even if there would be the possibility of death?" Riddle asked.

"I suppose if I knew I were bound for death, I would have no fear in completing my task." Grinning, the man stood to take his leave, when the jiggling of bells alerted the men to someone entering the front of the store.

The blonde considered it his cue to exit and brushed past the couple making their way into the store. Riddle held back, however, observing the odd couple from the shadows. It was a young man and woman, both with delicate facial features and curly brown hair, though the female's hair was far more riotous. He observed the man a little more closely, sensing some familiarity.

"Are you sure this is the right place Colin?" said the youthful woman, her eyes were open wide in curiosity such that Tom could make out their brown color.

"Positive." The man glancing around the store as if searching for something.

"It just look more expensive then I thought it would, I don't think I could ever afford anything here." Her lips falling open upon examining a price tag on a vase.

"They bargain a lot." The man paused looked a little confused, before he continued walking, coming closer to a hatch, that would reveal a more illegal crowd and menu if accessed.

"I doubt even bargaining if you could afford any of the items displayed in the store." Riddle interrupted. The couple turned and jumped at seeing him.

There Tom Riddle arrogantly stood, his eyes seemingly assessing and judging them, which he probably was. Hermione squeezed Colin's hand, fearful of how much Riddle had heard, as well as worried how much they may have said.

Offended Colin replied harshly, "Who asked you?"

At this moment a middle aged man exited from the back room, "Ah, Mr. Riddle, such a wonderful, reliable, customer, showing you young people around while I take care of my back room, if you don't mind taking care of them a moment more, Mr. Riddle while I go sign for some packages." Seeing Riddle's eyes darken, he added on, "Your requested price will be matched."

"Very well." Riddle said in a bored tone waving his hands for Hermione and Colin to follow. Not wanting their true intentions for being there revealed the two shuffled behind Riddle, who made it a point of being snide to them while commenting on the prices of various items, such as several vases whose designs were interwoven in an array of colors, with various representations. He casually hinted that the items were most likely worth more than their own persons.

Seething with annoyance at being treated so, Hermione reacted in a way that even surprised her and would later make her claim temporary insanity. As Riddle turned to face them, Hermione cleared her throat and spat in his face. Wiping the spit from his face Riddle was taken aback, seeing this she then replied, "Forgive me, with all the valuables about I couldn't find a more suitable place to spit."

Colin started viciously coughing in an attempt to reign in his amusement.

Riddle's eyes took on a sinister gleam, before replying, "No forgive me, I suppose I was being ostentatious."

"Indeed, I believe we've had enough for the day, and will take our leave right now." Hermione spoke trying to weasel out of the store dragging Colin behind her.

"Please, I feel quite poorly, at least give me your name, that I may send you a proper apology."

Hermione knew he didn't mean to give an apology, but thought for a moment, examining the pros and cons of giving him her name, even one she had just made up, for benefits of teaching at Hogwarts. Sending him a bright smile that seemed to startle Riddle, she said, "Mirage Greenhorn, it's been a pleasure, Mr. Riddle, but we must be going, and please no apologies."

.oOo.

(1) Machiavelli, Niccolo The Prince. A new translation


	5. Poisonous Places

_Previously: Hermione's use of her Gringotts key is discovered. Riddle schemes and burns a book. The tale of the Twinkle's Terrifyingly Terrible Trinkets is told. Hermione gets a divine job at Hogwarts. Colin isn't so lucky. Hermione and Riddle meet face to face._

* * *

Chapter 5: Poisonous Places

The sparkling gleam of the ring had ensnared him, and like pretty poisons that promise pleasure, had sent him on the quest, despite all hazards, to obtain relief that only the possession of the piece could grant.

Hidden in the shadows, his eyes followed the hand that held the jewel, speckled with the vivid alternate splendor of green and silver. He staggered forward a few steps, bringing him closer to the gem that fed his base desires. Desires had separated him from his caretaker, the fluffy haired hat-maker, and desires had brought him to this strange location on the tail of the ring-owners robe.

Sharpening his ears, the adventurous nargle heard the ring-wearer hiss, the soft sounds sending chills down his spine. Hearing a responding snakelike sigh, his fur stood on end. His gaze fell downward from the shelf he stood upon, allowing him an unobstructed view of the source of the sound.

It's scales glittered green and shone blue, moving in waves, the patterns rippled, alternatively glowing and dimming, but always alive with a cold and vivid fire. Surveying the snake, he shuddered as its long forked tongue darted out of its mouth. At the sudden crackling of flames, he shrunk away from sight, and observed the visage that had appeared in the fireplace.

The face gazed around at his surroundings, as the fire licked at his aristocratic features. Raising a brow slightly in curiosity, he addressed the ring-wearer that was Tom Riddle. "I received your owl. How may I be of service?"

Riddle's green eyes narrowed briefly as he pondered how much to reveal to the man, "A long story, suffice to say I'm troubling you for something that may trouble me."

His curiosity peaked; the man bit his tongue, from inquiring further, and instead replied, "Being of service to someone of quality such as yourself, could hardly be considered trouble. Again, how may I be of aid?"

Moistening his lips, before voicing his request, Riddle responded with but a single word, "Information."

"Of whom or what, may I ask," the other questioned.

Riddle's jaw tightened, "One Mirage Greenhorn to be exact. Find all you can, especially of any and all associates of hers, as I am most interested in the familiarity of one of her compatriots."

Seeing the fleeting but underlying fury in Tom Riddle's eyes, the individual felt it prudent in abstaining from further inquiries, and instead simply acknowledged the request, "Very well, how soon do you need the information?"

Tracing the engravings on his wand, shadowy eyes held the aristocrats probing ones, before answering succinctly, "Must you ask?"

Sensing the unspoken threat, the man replied, "No indeed." Then seeing Riddle wave his hand dismissively, he concluded, "Until the next time we speak," before disappearing from the fire.

Making sure the connection was closed; Riddle turned to his pet, murmuring thoughtfully, "Discontent, the root of the ministries woes, shall aid me for now." His pet hissed something in response. Allowing a half-smile to appear on his face, he removed his ring, placing it on a nearby table, "I see…hunger, the root of your discontent." Motioning the snake over he prepared to feed her.

Shivering, the nargle watched as both predators turned their backs to him. Rolling off the shelves, onto the counter below him, his eyes widened at seeing his desire lying so close and unattended, beckoning him with its brightness. Utilizing the distraction presented, he leapt, twisting and turning in a complicated motion, seemingly distorting his tiny body, in a high speed snatch and grab, that left him in another dark corner cuddling his new possession.

Holding his treasure in his paws, he sighed happily, thinking the object nearly as nice as the hats his fluffy haired hat-maker made for him and his eighty-seven brothers and sisters. He recollected sneaking into her room and discovering the small colorful hats in a drawer. Finding how wonderfully the hats fit he had taken them all. On returning, he found her fussing and worrying about the missing hats she called S.P.E.W. Feeling bad about ruining the fluffy haired-ones hat surprise, he decided to give back the socks he had taken from her earlier, and then with the help of twenty-two of his brothers had left a sheep in her bedroom to aid with further hat making.

Realizing his funny caretaker may be worried about him, his eyes scanned the surroundings, before spotting a window left slightly ajar. Beginning to scuttle home to his caretaker, the ring carefully tucked away, he paused certain he had heard a howl of rage come from within the walls he recently vacated, cursing the absence of the ring.

.oOo.

Cursing herself for her folly in regards to Riddle, then discovering the absence of her nargle, Hermione's anxiety level reached a new high, and so she began to babble, "Oh Colin, why? This is horrible. I might as well run for the next Minister of Magic at the rate I'm going. One should never change time… and I've turned everything on it's blasted head. In fact, Riddle will most likely take my head. And Beeper! Out, alone, stealing who knows what, or creating chaos who knows where…then me teaching Divination….the student's will fail their NEWTS for sure!" She nearly wailed at her statement.

Colin who had been sitting on the bench next to her, gently patted her on the back. "Chin up, you once told me things always turn out for the better, so I'm telling it back to you now. Besides you're Hermione Granger, know-it-all extraordinaire, you'll figure it out." Suddenly grinning, he added, "Though if all else fails, I think you'd be a wonderful Minister of Magic."

Slightly calming, she smiled back at Colin, and felt slightly shamed at her nearly teary outburst. She thought back to her experiences with Ron and Harry. She had fought in numerous battles including the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, the Battle of Hogwarts, incapacitated a number of Death Eaters, fully recovered from several potentially fatal curses, was quite skilled at spell creation, and charms. Recalling her post-Hogwarts training as well, she cheered considerably. "Your right Colin, this…..this is a piece of cake." Fully energized, Hermione sprung from her seat.

Worried about the mischievous gleam that had taken hold in Hermione's eyes, Colin let out a small form of protest, "Hey, wait, I didn't quite say that. In fact I didn't say that at all. This is completely the opposite. In fact I'd call the situation apparating into a live volcano bad, possibly worse."

Raising an eye Hermione peered at him, "Whatever happened to things will be better? We'll figure it out?"

Wringing his hands, Colin countered, "Technically I said you'd figure it out, and I really didn't specify who'd things end up better for."

"You truly are an inspirational speaker, Colin," Hermione replied dryly. Shaking her head, she added, "I say we stick to the original plan."

Colin looked at Hermione confusedly, "Which was?"

She ignored Colin's question, "Come on, less chatting, more doing, and you're going to help." With this final statement, the two then disappeared into a nearby crowd.

.oOo.

At his wit's end, Wallace Rugen, yearned for hair, for currently he wished to pull some out. The paperwork, the demanding parents, professors nearly drove him up the wall; classes were to begin in two day's time, and he was completely behind. Contemplating a decision to push back the starting date of classes, he groaned as he realized that would only create more work for him.

He shook his head and sighed, unsure how Dumbledore had managed his first year as headmaster, just a year ago. He creased his head worriedly thinking about the condition of the headmaster, he had stopped by St. Mungo's two hours prior, and was informed that Dumbledore's condition was stable. They declined to say anymore, and refused to allow any visitors.

Just when he thought things could not become much worse, the frosting on the cake occurred. Auror Hastings pulled him aside, speaking of a desire to converse with their number one suspect. Thoroughly baffled, Rugen had followed him, ending up detained for the next hour, grilled on his motivations. According to Hastings, Rugen had attempted to off the headmaster, to possess the coveted role of Headmaster of Hogwarts. Hogwash, Rugen currently thought, as he shuffled together several paper on his desk in an attempt to bring some semblance of order to his desk.

Suddenly the door in front of him burst open, scattering the papers he had just finished organizing. Looking up toward the entrance, there leaning casually against the wall was a young man in robes of a swirl of blue and black. Incensed at being disturbed, and after the indignities of the day, Rugen harshly bit out, "Just who exactly are you, barging into my office? I'm an exceptionally busy person."

"Cicerone Levy, special unit of the auror's division, that deals with unique cases. You and Hogwarts are of current special interest in the case of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, number 74193." The man flashed him an identifying badge.

For some minutes Rugen remained speechless and motionless, looking incredulously at the man with an open mouth, and eyes that seemed starting from their sockets; then apparently recovering himself in some measure, he managed to stutter out, "What? I already explained everything to Auror Hastings this morning."

Seemingly startled, but masking it quickly, the auror then replied, "Well then you are aware of the situation, and the in-depth investigation that is required. As well as my presence at Hogwarts until the conclusion of this case."

Rugen snapped out of his daze completely, "Wait just a moment, you can't expect to disrupt the teaching environment. Think of the parent's, the student's, your presence would not be conducive to learning."

"And I suppose, an attempted murderer about the premises is?" The individual rejoined.

"I'm innocent, and I won't have my school run amuck by the likes of you." Rugen said furiously.

"Your school is it? Then it seems that we are at an impasse. Unless another solution can be reached? One that may not pose so many distractions?" suggested Auror Levy.

Mumbling to himself, Wallace Rugen pondered of some viable solution, to both their problems. Before alighting upon a brilliant idea. "You can teach here!" he exclaimed joyously.

The auror, not rejecting the idea forthright only replied, "And what do you recommend I teach?"

Becoming more and more excited with his idea, as it would kill two birds with one stone, "A flying instructor, our previous instructor, Professor Getaway is retiring, leaving the spot open. You could fill in. It's not a lot of work, and you could continue your investigation." Rugen concluded proud of his solution.

The auror paused, "Indeed, a good solution indeed, though how can you guarantee that my presence will not make itself known anyway?"

Wallace frowned, what a point indeed. He sighed, as he found himself back at square one.

The other man was not as despondent, as after taking a breather he turned to Rugen, "I believe I have a solution to both our problems." Grabbing a quill and a piece of parchment, he seemed to scribble down several statements, before turning the document over to Rugen, who was surprised to see the amount of writing on the sheet, in such a short time.

As Rugen made to peer closer at the document, it was snatched back by the man. "It is a binding magical contract, that upon signing will ensure the secrecy of this agreement, by any means, until the contracts fulfillment." He then handed the document back to Rugen.

Rugen contemplated the pros and cons of signing such an agreement. Seeing no downfalls he seized a quill and signed his name with a flourish on the bottom. Handing over the document for the other to sign, he spoke as he waited, "You will be provided quarters in the castle, let me know if you need any assistance, for despite what you aurors may think, I played no part in Headmaster Dumbledore's state."

The man nodded his head, a grin playing on his face, "I have no doubts of that, though I am certain the culprits will be found in the castle." Then just as abruptly as he entered, the man took his leave, disappearing from the office. Rugen sighed, before gathering his papers again, and continuing to work.

.oOo.

"I was brilliant, if I do say so myself." Colin crowed, as he handed over the parchment that Rugen just signed to Hermione for safekeeping. "I couldn't have come at a better time as well, it seems Hastings just recently accused him of the crime." Leaping around, Colin continued to dance with joy, "And your contract, inspired was what it was. Plus the badge, Four-Fingered Frank, did a marvelous job."

Hermione grinned, "Well Auror Cicerone Levy, I guess we have a castle to explore, don't we?"

Grabbing her arm, he returned, "Indeed we do."

.oOo.

Hepzibah Smith endeavored to shriek; her lips and tongue moved forward in the attempt, but no voice issued from the cavernous lungs, which seemed oppressed as if by the weight of some sitting mountain, gasping her heart palpated at every elaborate and struggling inspiration. Strong arms wrapped around her shushing her, and rocking her as she composed her breath returned to her.

She blinked wearily, before turning back to her merciful savior. "Oh Tom, you certainly are a dear, I'm terribly sorry, I seem to be having such horrible spells lately." Sadly pausing, she continued, "It must be my age, I'm just glad you're around to help such an old woman."

Riddle examined her, "Not a mark on you, and please Hepzibah, I doubt it's your age. Why you look as lovely as the spring's cherry blossoms."

Hepzibah, laughed, her large rotund belly slightly jiggling, before the sound turned into a dry heave, as she struggled to get her breath back. Silence permeated the room, before Hepzibah spoke again, "My dear Tom, it's times like this I'm reminded of my age, as well as my mortality. My wealth is great, but what use is it if I have no one to share it with. After all what is an empty life?"

"What morbid talk, I'm sure your life will be one of fulfillment." Riddle poured her another cup of tea.

"You truly are a darling man, it's amazing no fine woman has snatched you up." Hepzibah grinned, as she saw Tom's shoulders stiffen. Attributing it to bashfulness, she prattled on, "No, I believe a fine man like you is probably looking for some special woman."

Forcing a smile on his face, Tom took a sip of tea before replying, "I find none can match you, my lovely Hepzibah."

Fanning her face, "What a flatterer you be, Mr. Riddle, if I were but a few years younger," sighing she continued, "no matter, the hour draws late."

"To be sure, it does." Reaching out for her hand, he placed a kiss on it. "I suppose I must take my leave." Standing he looked ready to depart.

Anxious Hepzibah bade him pause, "You will visit again, won't you? Your teaching's at Hogwarts won't consume all you're time? Forgive me for being so selfish, it's just that I've come to enjoy your visits, and I had hoped to show you some certain treasures I hold that should spark your interest."

"My curiosity is indeed peaked, with an offer such as yours how can anyone refuse, but you are a treasure in itself my lady, and not Hippogriffs nor dragons could tear me away from our inspired meetings." Bowing low Riddle then turned, his face hiding an expression of loathing, as he made his way out of the elderly woman's home.

.oOo.

"I thought you only had two bags and a purse, where did all these books come from." Colin questioned as he aided Hermione in carrying various items to her new room in Hogwarts.

"While you were with Deputy Headmaster Rugen, I was preparing a lesson plan of sorts, and to do that I needed to visit the library, and get a couple of books." As several of the books could not be shrunk, Hermione carried them in her arms, as she chatted away with Colin.

"Hmm, I don't know those don't look nearly enough." Colin said somewhat amused as he gazed at the 10 books Hermione carried in her arms.

"No? But I got - oh-" Realizing Colin was being sarcastic she shook her head, "Really, you certainly are a laugh a day. My rooms should be coming up soon. Then we can move you in."

Switching subjects, Colin inquired, "What about Beeper? We can't leave him out there, how will he find us?"

"Believe me when he gets tired of creating mischief, or gets hunger, he'll find us." Glancing at her watch, she added, "I give him another two hours or so." As she turned round the bend of the final corridor, a torn hem of her robe became entangled between her feet. Stepping on it she pitched forward disappearing through a wall in front of her, leaving her books behind.

Dropping the items he was carrying, Colin rushed forward, looking for a lever of some sort, as he called her name.

.oOo.

In the confusion of her fall, Hermione did not immediately apprehend her startling circumstance. Her face seemed bathed in a clammy vapor, and the peculiar smell of decay rose to her nostrils. Putting her arm forward she lit the tip of her wand, and shuddered to find that she had nearly fallen into a round pit.

Intrigued as to the depth, she dislodged a nearby stone, and let it fall into the abyss. For numerous seconds she listened to its reverberations as it dashed against the sides of the chasm in it's descent; at length, there was a plunge into water, followed by loud echoes. At the same moment came another sound unfamiliar to her ears, which was accompanied by a faint gleam of light suddenly flashing through the gloom, and just as rapidly fading away.

"Hermione were are we?" Colin's voice behind her queried. The thump or his body signaling he had just fallen through.

"Some part of the castle I assume, but first, how did you get in and how do we get out?" Not waiting for an answer, she walked toward the wall she fell from, putting her hand forward, she was surprised to meet with no resistance and so pushed her head through. Peering around the deserted corridor from which they had come, she decided it would be prudent to clear up the mess they made, before some wanderer assumed the worst. Pushing the rest of her body through the wall, Colin followed suit.

Picking up Hermione's belongings they had scarcely completed their work, when a footstep was heard. Tossing themselves back through the wall, a habit born of sneaking through Hogwarts as children, they listened as some individual passed by the place of concealment with a slow but steady gate.

As they could not see the person's face, they contented themselves with listening. Given the tones of the voice they perceived the individual a man. The voice muttered to himself, in a low broken tone, some words of a language not understood. Listening closely, Hermione could make out several hisses, that most likely belonged to a parselmouth. Her heart beating rapidly, she held her breath as she realized Tom Riddle stood not a meter away from their hiding place.

.oOo.

* * *

_A/N: Cicerone Levy, is also an anagram for Colin Creevey, just like Hermione's name._

_Also a quick note in regards to Hepzibah Smith, I couldn't find the exact year of her death, when I looked it up on the Harry Potter wiki, they listed two different dates, one of 1946, and the other in 1960 when looking at the timeline. So I decided to take some liberties, as in either case she died post Tom Riddle's graduation of Hogwarts._


	6. Telling Tarots

_Previously: Riddle hires someone to look for information on Mirage Greenhorn aka Hermione Granger. Beeper steals Riddle's ring. Deputy Headmaster Wallace Rugen takes onto his staff faux Auror Cicerone Levy, aka Colin Creevey. Riddle visits Hepzibah Smith. Colin and Hermione move into Hogwarts, accidentally discovering a hidden hideaway, within the school's walls._

Chapter 6

The walls of the circular prison showed no possibilities of escape. Footsteps marched around the enclosure cautiously as the floor seemed laid with slimy water. The boots squished around the edges before determining the prison's circumference to be approximately a hundred paces. Pausing, fingers then ran along the crevices of the stone wall, seeking, searching for something that refused to allow itself to be found. Odd angles, irregularities could be felt, but all were immovable. Colin groaned. He had gone back to investigate the secret room, the pit, hoping to find its reason for being. After all what would Hogwarts have to do with something created so pointlessly?

He had discussed it with Hermione in length after they had managed to settle into their rooms. She had gone on muttering that it had not been on a map and perhaps it was unplottable as the Room of Requirement had been. Sorely confused, he felt tempted to point out that Hogwarts never handed out a welcoming direction map. However, he wisely decided to say nothing, in case they did and he never received one. It would explain a lot in his point of view, considering the numerous times he lost his way about the castle while others found theirs just fine.

Coming back to the present, he wondered again of the pit's purpose. Filch would have a field day, if he knew about this place, tossing students down into the dank darkness for detentions. Maybe it had been one of the banned punishments? He shivered at the thought. Lighting his wand, he glanced at the time. Realizing he was very nearly late, he grabbed the broom that accompanied him on his descent and made his way out.

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The afternoon light filtered its way through large circular windows, touching upon large plush chairs that spoke of comfort and elegance. A fountain at the far end of room which had been gushing cherry soda earlier, currently decided to spout rivulets of chocolate down its sides, emitting a delightfully sweet aroma. Near the door stood a tree that produced lemon drops, a gift presented to Dumbledore on his first day as Headmaster. The room spoke of a candy lover's paradise and looked very much sickeningly sweet.

She had checked her pocket watch for the third time within the last ten minutes. Minerva McGonagall abhorred lateness and found it tantamount to disrespect. Hoping the Deputy Headmaster would appear soon; she smoothed down her emerald green robes and took another look around the room, evaluating the rest of the inhabitants. Most were chatting, though some seemed to prefer a moment of solitude. Filius Flitwick sat to her right atop two cushions, sipping a cherry syrup and soda concoction, most likely obtained by the fountain, while scribbling away at something on a parchment.

Turning her head, her lips formed an imperceptible smile at seeing her old Potions professor, Horace Slughorn boisterously speaking to another younger staff member who appeared quite bored. Scrutinizing the individual carefully, she was dowsed with a sense of familiarity and racked her brain trying to identify him. The man had the appearance of a statue hewn from rugged granite and adolescent dreams. His face was handsome; his nose was thin, his eyes heavy lidded, and his cheekbones high.

She did not have to think long, however, as Slughorn chose this moment to clap the man on his back and praise him by name. Tom Riddle, she mused. She vaguely remembered him through prefect meetings, as he had been in the year below her in school. Looking at him now, she was unsure how she could have ever forgotten him.

Her eyes were drawn away from the duo, however, as a clash of colors came into her line of sight. A pretty witch, whose curly locks seemed magnetically charged, sat in robes of a swirling purple and blue, arguing with a quite serene and pregnant Professor Warble, whose robes were geometrically set in orange and yellows, about the relevance of sortilege versus augury in Divination. Immediately turned off by the conversation which she deemed empty-headed chatter, she turned to join the conversation of Silvanus Kettleburn, professor for the Care of Magical Creatures and Herbert Beery, the Herbology professor. Their discussion currently centered on ways to survey the Forbidden Forest.

"-of all the wild, extravagant theories!" Kettleburn cried. "I'd lose another finger or foot for sure, utilizing such a hare-brained scheme!" He gestured to his few remaining limbs.

Herbert Beery huffed, "Well, it's currently only an experimental verification method. The kinks still have to be worked out."

"Kinks! Your idea holds no viable or even promising solutions. It's like those dramatic plays you go see, where everyone ends up miserable and dead. What say you, Minerva? What's your opinion on this?" said Kettleburn turning expectantly toward McGonagall.

Just as she opened her mouth to reply, the door creaked open, silencing the rest of the room. Anticipating the appearance of the Deputy Headmaster, they were slightly disappointed when, instead, it revealed a young man in his early twenties. His robe was dusty and dirty, and smeared with green down the sleeves; his hair was disordered and seemingly lighter in places, either with dust or dirt. His face had a pale hue. He hesitated in the doorway for a moment, as if dazzled by the light, though if truth be told, the staff room held only a dingy glow of afternoon's light. His eyes grew brighter upon spying the witch in blue and purple and rushed to claim the seat next to her. Before sitting, he acknowledged the hush that had formed due to his entry. They stared at him in silence, as if expecting him to speak.

Glancing about awkwardly, he spoke, "Don't let me disturb you. I'm all right, just an -er flying mishap." Once conversation resumed, the man settled down in his chair, leaned toward the woman he called Mirage, and murmured something in her ear. Some pleasant comment, Minerva supposed, seeing a dash of red stain Mirage's cheeks before she whispered back to the man she identified as Cicerone. Taking a closer look, they seemed to be conspiring, but she broke off from her musings as the door opened yet again, this time by the Deputy Headmaster Wallace Rugen.

Looking frazzled, he greeted the staff. Then, with a somber tone, he spoke, "By now I'm sure you all have heard about the state of our Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. On a day like this, I thought we might start by taking a moment of silence to show some respect, consideration, and well wishes for a wizard so integral to this school, and hope his magic aids him in a speedy recovery."

Minerva's eyes misted as she thought of the professor. She had last seen him a week ago when he had hired her for the Transfiguration position not two days before ending up in St. Mungo's. After a few moments had passed, Rugen took another breath and began listing upcoming expectations for the new school year. As he progressed to more familiar and happier topics, a look of rapt pleasure seemed to broaden his angular face, though his voice varied rapidly from tremulous indecision to energetic concision. Topics flew from House points, forms of punishment, grading reports, patrolling schedules, and Hogsmeade trips.

Angling himself in Tom Riddle's direction, Rugen then addressed him, "On other fronts, I've reviewed your request, Tom, and approval for the dueling club is still tentative. However, I will consider approving it for fourth years and up, if you can find a second professor to aid in supervision-"

At this point Horace Slughorn interjected the conversation. "We just decided upon that and I have offered to aid in supervision."

Acknowledging Slughorn, Rugen continued, "Very good, but there are still some fine points to address in terms of the dueling club. I would also like it if you could send me a specific list of what you plan to cover in your meetings. If I find it acceptable, you may begin as soon as mid-September." Pausing, he looked around the room, "Now, if there is no other business, I call this meeting adjourned."

Minerva stood, approaching Rugen for a question, when Mirage Greenhorn and Cicerone Levy brushed past her apologetically, looking as if they had just heard the world was ending in a matter of days.

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"You're a professional thief as well?" Hermione whispered to Colin as they attempted to break into the Headmaster's office.

"Hush." Colin sat down, his ear pressed against the mouth of the stone gargoyle.

Completely mystified as to why they could not use a modified reveal spell, Hermione watched Colin do some complicated wand-work, which he claimed would disable any alarms. This made her brows furrow, as her diagnostic spells showed nothing of the sort. Shrugging her shoulders, she looked around checking to make sure they were still alone.

A moment later, Colin signaled her, as the gargoyles moved from their places allowing entrance to the Headmaster's office.

Grinning, Colin took a bow, "You may now call me the gargoyle whisperer."

Rolling her eyes, she looked around cautiously again, hoping that they would not be caught. Then, under the shroud of darkness, the four feet made their way noiselessly up the spiral staircase, the wooden floor creaking from their combined weights. Tugging Colin's sleeve for him to stop, Hermione sniffed the air. Something was burning. Forgoing caution, she hurried up the remaining stairs. Hermione's first impression as she opened the door was that a fire had broken out, since the room was so filled with smoke that the lights were blurred by it. As she and Colin entered further, her fears were put to rest. The acrid fumes, which took her by the throat and had her coughing, were the result of several cigars that looked to only recently be put out**. **Calming her breath and muttering a silencing spell, she then waved her wand. The dark smog turned into a transparent mist and objects in the room slowly became visible. Numerous trinkets laid about the room and shelves in an alcove contained dozens of books of interest. A faint noise coming from the shadows alerted them to another in the room. Clutching her wand, she turned toward the direction of the sound. Sitting upon a perch was Fawkes, Dumbledore's pet phoenix, preening his feathers and eyeing them rather suspiciously, but made no move to alert anyone of the invasion.

"How are we supposed to find anything in here?" Colin groaned, rummaging through the desk.

Hermione glanced over her shoulder as she fed Fawkes a treat to calm the now bouncing phoenix. Upon soothing his ruffled feathers, she replied, "We can always make another trip, but hopefully, we'll find something tonight. I'm just glad Rugen finally turned in. I thought he'd never leave."

"You and me both. Are you sure we couldn't do this tomorrow? The welcoming feast left me tuckered out," said Colin as he examined a figurine he discovered closer, which then proceeded to sneeze on him. Surprised, Colin nearly dropped the figure, before quickly laying it back on the desk.

Hermione took to investigating the opposite side of the room and picked up several books, examining them for false covers that may hide objects. "No, this is the perfect time to snoop. Everyone's bound to be distracted with the events of the day - oh- and while we're at it maybe we can find Tom Riddle's file. Find an old address or place of employment and see if we can discover anything of aid there." Opening another book, she quickly slammed it shut when it began to sing a rousing jig.

"Planning on blackmailing him? I don't know. Isn't he king of that kind of stuff? I doubt he would leave stuff just lying about," Colin queried as he picked the lock to a desk drawer magically.

"Still, it never hurts to check. Though you have a point, he does seem guarded and distrustful," said Hermione thoughtfully as she moved her search to another shelf that contained numerous knickknacks.

Colin snorted, "Distrustful? I'd call that an understatement. Did you see him staring at us? What I wouldn't give to know what he was thinking the moment he recognized you."

Hermione groaned as she remembered first walking into the staff room. Riddle had already been there making idle chitchat with other members of the staff. When his eyes had alighted on her, their appearance had turned from surprise to a raging storm before becoming expressionless again. "Most likely Crucioing me. I didn't help matters at the welcoming feast either." The event, in Hermione's opinion, had to be the worst she ever had the privilege of attending.

Colin, on the other hand, had a differing opinion, "I thought I'd die laughing at his expression when you tore off his cloak."

"Yes, well, I didn't expect Professor Warble to try and deliver her baby in the Great Hall. Besides, I didn't know it was his when I grabbed it." Hermione's face burned as she recollected the incident. Professor Warble refused to move from her location and Hermione, in an attempt to find some way for the professor to retain her dignity, grabbed the nearest cloak she saw. Unfortunately, it was still attached to Tom Riddle, whose face bore no amusement whatsoever from the act.

"Speaking of which, what's going to happen with that? Wasn't Warble supposed to spend the first week updating you on her classes before taking off on her maternity leave?" Colin asked, shuffling through some papers in a filing cabinet.

"That originally was the plan, -oh, I think I might have found something." Seeing something on the topmost shelf, Hermione stood on her tiptoes as she reached for it. Upon attaining her goal, she found that it was a crate, which in itself was a long and awkwardly shaped box. Attempting to open it, she realized it was seamlessly shut. Colin soon joined her as they tried to figure out how to expose whatever dwelt within.

The sound of a door grinding open interrupted their exploration. Hermione hurriedly shoved the box underneath a chair before frantically searching for somewhere to hide. Colin grabbed her forearm, dragging her toward a window. Looking at him confusedly, he grinned as he enlarged the broom he had hidden in his robe pocket.

"Come on. Now it's your turn to jump through the window." Pulling her onto the broom, they made their escape just as the head of Tom Riddle came up the stairs of the Headmaster's office.

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Animis opibusque parati. "Prepared in minds and resources" was a motto Hermione believed in fiercely. It led her to light several candles and incense inside the Divination classroom, in preparation for the first class of the day. Pausing from her activities, she mentally reviewed the lesson plan that she had created. She intended to start with a brief tarot reading before moving on to the crystal ball.

Counting her divining tools, her hand halted briefly at the cards on the table. Looking at her notes once more, she read the instructions of the different spreads - spreads that claimed to foretell an individual's aims and deepest desires. Loathing to look ridiculous, she glanced at the time to see if she could still get one more practice run in before students arrived. Determining thirty minutes was more than enough, she moved to shuffle the cards on her desk. Now what to ask, she pondered. Her thoughts flew toward the future from whence Colin and her came, a swirl of questions coming to mind. Focusing on the more important inquiries, such as the past they changed and the position they inadvertently helped Riddle to gain, she centered her energies on what should be done so balance could be restored.

Pulling four cards from the deck and placing each one accordingly, she turned them over. Blinking, she gazed down upon the cards before her eyes traveled back to the current page in her notes, which touted this simple spread as one of the most powerful and accurate ones. Her eyes drew back to the cards magnetically.

"Ridiculous," she snorted, reshuffling the cards before picking out four cards again, only to meet with the same four. "Impossible." Faster and slightly more frantically, she shuffled the cards again, before choosing and relaying out four cards again. Crossing her fingers, she prayed for a different result. Unfortunately, her prayers went unanswered, since the cards went unchanged.

"Balderdash," she grumbled. The cards had to be tainted in some way.

A sudden cough alerted her to her now very present class. Sixteen eyes gazed up at her, waiting expectantly upon her to begin. So engrossed was she with her reading that she did not even sense them enter. Glancing around the room, she noted that there were still several candles left to light. Waving her wand, her current agitation caused flames to erupt from the candlesticks, similar to a flamethrower's torch. The students started, becoming still, afraid to upset their teacher further, lest she decided something similar with them.

She remained standing, leaning against her desk and impatiently tapping her nails on the surface. Directing half her question to her class and the other half to herself, she asked, "The future. Is it unchangeable, immutable, or unpredictable? Is the future prewritten or can individuals create their own fate, one that is ever-changing?" At this point, she turned her attention fully to the class, "That is what we shall aim to discover in this class."

"Let's begin with the tarot and defining the cards," Hermione said sternly, turning to sit down. This time, she chose a different deck, her mind still on the cards from before. Her palms slightly sweaty, she again pulled four cards from the deck and placed them on the table. Turning toward the class, she said, "Let's imagine you wish to know about a future interaction with a particular individual." Lifting the first card from the table, she refused to look at it. Instead, she asked the class, "Now, what is this card and what would it tell you?"

A lovely blonde girl from Slytherin answered, slightly arrogantly, "It's the Wheel of Fortune and it shows fate. So, obviously, it's inevitable that the two people will come together."

Glancing at the card, she became conscious that the girl was right. Yet, her breath caught, since the card was the same as all the other times she had drawn. Realizing the students were waiting for confirmation of the correctness of the answer, Hermione nodded her head before briskly turning over the next card. Her heart sank as it appeared this spread would be identical to all others.

The card was the Lovers, an indication of a relationship . Blanching slightly, the wheels in her head began to turn. A relationship with Tom Riddle? Over her dead body. The idea was simply ridiculous. Then again, when she thought of her question, she didn't specify only herself and Tom Riddle exactly, did she? Colin was somewhere there, too, right? Of course, the idea of Tom Riddle and Colin together was even more preposterous. Perhaps, it was just an indication of a possible close teaching relationship. This was exactly why she found divination wooly. Picking up the card, she faced it toward the students. "The card of the Lovers. A sign of a relationship to come. A new question. Would finding your future in the cards aid you in your decisions? For example, would you consider having a new relationship just because of a card?"

A slightly pudgy boy named Todd Toadstool from Slytherin decided to answer with his own brand of wit, "Depends how cute she is." The class reacted with muffled chortles and giggles.

As she rolled her eyes at the answer, she spotted a brown and white fluffy ball, from the corner of her eye. Realizing that her nargle, Beeper, had returned and decided to silently accompany her to her class, she prayed for no one to notice him. Continuing on, she lifted the next card. This elicited gasps from some students, with others giggling at the thought of their professor meeting temptation in any form. Observing the card herself, it seemed to mock her. The tiny devil on the card waggled its eyes toward her, as if to tell her that indeed she could not escape. A mix of emotions ran through her, the most predominant being dread. She spoke, "Yes, the Devil. Can anyone tell me what it indicates?"

This time a redhead from Ravenclaw, Craig Forest, answered, "It's a card of ambition, but if it indicates a person, it can mean someone of money or power. They could be aggressive, controlling, or just plain persuasive. Basically, someone who is hard to resist."

This set another round of whispers throughout the room. A dark haired girl named Hazel turned to her friend, "Oh, how exciting! I would love to meet some wealthy, powerful man." Eyeing Craig across the room she then frowned. "Some people get all the luck." Hermione who had overheard the girl's statement, suppressed herself from making a biting comment. Instead, she voiced her agreement with the boy.

Only the fourth and final card was left. So far the pattern of the cards had gone unchanged. Four times she had drawn the same hand. Four times the cards had gone unaltered. If she did not have a class to instruct, she was certain she would have first wept, then stomped over to the nearby window and tossed the cards out. Having no reason to doubt the last card would be any different, she resigned herself to fate. Hermione turned the final card. The jaws of the students seemed to drop collectively. Once passing the initial shock, the whispers began before they soon turned into a raging symphony of noise. Shouting over the hubbub Hermione yelled, "Silence!" Her sudden exclamation was met with the quiet she desired. "Thank you. Yes, it is the card of death."

At this point Todd Toadstool raised his hand. Predicting his question, she shot him a look before continuing, "And no I am not forecasting my timely death. So you _will still_ get an assignment at the end of class." At this Todd dropped his hand and groaned. "Now death usually signifies an ending. Can anyone state what else it could mean?"

The blonde from before replied, "It could mean a change will take place or something."

"Very good. Any other ideas?" Hermione questioned scanning the room when her eyes alighted on two boys whispering to one another. Examining them more closely they appeared to be taking bets. "No? It should also be noted that if I find anyone making predictions of my death day, House points will be deducted." At her words, the parchment the boys had been scrawling on vanished without a trace.

Eager to get away from what she believed were cursed tarot cards, Hermione decided to switch topics, "Now why don't you all take out some parchment, quills, and your copies of _Unfogging the Future_, and turn to the chapter on gastromancy, The Art of the Crystal Ball." Giving them a moment to follow her instructions, her eyes turned toward Beeper, who currently held twenty different quills in his paws, chewing on the tips of each, trying to find the ones with a sugary end. Horrified, Hermione yelped, "No!" Puzzled, all eyes turned to her again. Endeavoring to keep a calm façade, but failing miserably, she tried to clarify and continued in a Trelawney-ish tone, "I mean, my inner-eye tells me none of you have quills." Grabbing a handful of quills from her desk, she passed them out to the confused students.

Craig whispered to his friend, "I think she's barmy. Of course we got quills."

His friend, who had been searching through his bag, whispered back, "Maybe you do, but mine are missing." Soon, more students were grousing about missing quills as they realized that their teacher was correct. As class progressed, several Slytherins started a rumor that she had vanished the quills to frighten them.

Hermione, hearing this, snorted, but felt it wiser to remain quiet and have a talk with Beeper when the students left. Rounding on the students to check their understanding of the topic, she came across two students chatting about the European Quidditch Cup game that started 3 days ago and still had yet to finish.

"I wager the Karasjok Kites will win over the Caerphilly Catapults. It's a given. 340-200," one of the boys said, attempting to wrangle an opposing wager for his friend.

"Naw, they'll win 400-200. You'll see." They both quieted as they noted Hermione standing over them.

Raising an eye, Hermione questioned, "And what does your crystal ball say?" Looking guilty, the boys stayed silent. As she eyed them, she could not bring herself to scold them for not paying attention, feeling it hypocritical of her. Remembering Harry and Ron go on about what they felt would be the ultimate game to have seen, she smiled before she replied, "I believe it says that the Caerphilly Catapults will win, 380-370, with Dangerous Dai Llewellyn scoring the last few points."

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"Me and my big mouth." Hermione currently held her head as the evening had led her with somber spirits. Some students were celebrating the Caerphilly Catapults win while others were pointing and gossiping about their Divination teacher that predicted it all.

"Come on now." Colin said in between bites of his dinner, "It's not that bad. Think of it as a good thing. No one will doubt your credibility now."

"No. Now, they'll probably ask me for Quidditch scores." Blaming her lapse of judgment on the stress of the first day, she turned to Colin, "So how were flying lessons with the first years?"

"Ended up in the hospital wing twice." Colin glowered at the memory.

"They were that bad?" Suddenly, she felt grateful that nothing worse happened in her classes.

"No, I was that bad. My broom didn't happen to agree with my flying instructions and I ended up first breaking my wrist, then twisting an ankle."

"That's terrible." Hermione winced sympathetically. Seeing Horace Slughorn make his way to her, a greedy look in his eyes, she took it as her cue to escape. Agreeing to meet with Colin later that night, she abandoned the rest of her dinner.

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Eager to have finally left behind the whispers of both students and teachers alike, she wandered down one of the corridors toward her room, deep in thought on ways to find the lock and rid Riddle of his teaching post. She was awoken from her ponderings as she noted that a figure situated himself in a way that blocked her route. She looked up to find the current object of her musings. There Tom Riddle stood studying her. Shadows fell across his face, giving him a sinister cast. His attention was unnerving, with his eyes burning into her, as if he could strip her bare, body and soul. Though she said nothing, he cocked a lazy eyebrow, as if amused by her, and proceeded to stroll toward her, his movement graceful, like a panther on the prowl. The closer he came, the bigger he seemed, tall and broad at the shoulder. He seemed both an element of nature and a beast, a huge, ruthless beast who kept his claws hidden until he chose to use them.

Uncertain of what he may do, Hermione refused to flee. Her heart pounded fiercely against the walls of her chest. Certain its thumping resonated throughout the castle; she would be surprised if Tom had not heard it. He stopped mere inches from her. She gritted her teeth to keep from flinching.

Surveying her, he said in a deceptively soft voice, "A tough burden to bear no doubt."

Curiously, Hermione met his eyes, "Pardon?"

He circled her, like a hawk closing in on its prey. Stopping behind her, he leaned closer, his breath tickling her as he murmured into her ear, "The gift of sight, of course." Sweeping around to face her, his eyes narrowed, "Tell me. Do you foresee tragedies as well? For that would be a terrible thing."

His sham compassion coupled with his underlying threat shattered the wall around her emotions. Simultaneously uncomfortable and furious, Hermione raised her hand to push him away, but he grabbed her wrist painfully and pulled her to him so that their faces were only inches apart. Reeling and operating totally by instinct, her other hand went to his shoulder to steady herself. Realizing her error, she removed it as if burned. Then, attempting to disengage her wrist from his grip, she only succeeded in agitating him.

"Look at me," his tone was husky and slightly demanding.

"I know things are not always what they appear to be." His eyes set in glowing wheels of fire, he lowered his voice to a silken growl. "I am no fool."

Again, she had the urge to step backward and put a safe distance between them, but, in her opinion, that would be tantamount to admitting that he held the upper hand. "I never said you were."

Caressing her wrist with slow circles of his thumb, he made his way to the palm of her hand. Holding her breath, she watched warily as his thumb traced the lines he found there. Turning his head back toward her, he abruptly changed the subject, "I've always found the art of palmistry fascinating. To think…one can be evaluated so simply and a simple line can tell so much about one's well-being." He punctuated his last few words by pressing his thumb viciously against the line of life in her palm. Still, he did not release her.

She clenched her teeth and faced up to him, trying to ignore their proximity and the sculpture-like perfection of his features. She gritted her teeth and spoke, "I, myself, find onomancy an intriguing topic and even simpler. A person's name can tell much, even victors in battle." Her implied meaning left no room for misunderstanding.

She could feel his fury vibrating in his arm. She could feel it lifting her off her toes. She wanted to peer into his mind and, at the same time, shield away.

When he next spoke, his voice contained a razor-sharp edge of menace, "Tell me how confident are you on the accuracy of such a form of divination?"

She took a breath to speak and looked at him. His dark eyes watched her, almost threatening her with his gaze, and her words hung, unuttered, in her mind.

She did not like this.

She did not like the way he overwhelmed her good sense with pure intimidation. She did not like the scent of him or how the strength of his body was emphasized next to the vulnerability of hers, or the sight of his face, so close against hers.

The tarot card reading from earlier entered her mind. Fortune. Lovers. Devil. Death. The chant repeated itself without pause. Her lungs ceased to function. Her heart leaped and she gawked like a rabbit mesmerized by a snake. His ebony lashes framed green eyes. Not grass green or sea green, but burning green, blazing with something she could not identify. Her heart gave an irregular thump. Wariness returned in a rush. She was shaken, but she had not lost her wits.

At that moment, she realized that he made a game of her. He knew exactly what he was doing and had been testing her. She knew what he was and who he would become. Yet, for some reason, she had ignored it. Now, she looked at him again, seeing him as he was: a swaggering, powerful, experienced man, the kind of man who hunted his prey unrelentlessly, not stopping until every living part was devoured.

She tried to surreptitiously ease the chill of goosebumps from her skin. She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing he had succeeded in shaking her. In as tart a tone as she could manage, she retorted, "No matter what form is used, the outcome will always be the same."

He then smiled and she caught her breath in awe. His mouth … his glorious, sensual mouth. His lips were wide, too wide. His teeth were white, clean, and strong as a wolf's. He looked like a man seldom amused by life, but he was amused by her.

She froze, her eyes widened, positive his gleaming grin bore ill for her. Confused and with her mind in turmoil, her eyes began to ache with the strain of never blinking.

Releasing his grip on her, he tucked his hands behind his back and straightened his shoulders. "Actually, I believe individuals to create their own fate, one that is ever-changing."

His words eerily mirrored her statements from her earlier classes. Yet, unable to admit any sort of agreement, Hermione quickly countered, "But one cannot hide from fate. It is unavoidable."

"Perhaps." Riddle looked upon her thoughtfully.

Uncomfortable with the sudden silence, Hermione then spoke, "Well, now that we have conferred the obvious, I believe I'll take my leave." Yet, she remained frozen to the ground, her legs not obeying her order to move, when he spoke again.

"I find, MissGreenhorn, the world is full of the obvious. Many obvious things that no one has had a chance to observe. Though I must say, I find observation of such things a special delight." With that, Riddle walked past her, his boots thudding against the cold stone floor, disappearing down another corridor.

Standing alone, she absorbed his words and horror crept in a stranglehold around her heart.

.

.

A/N: First off, a big thank you to all my reviewers: stumpt, Cursed21, RJLupinFan, Hajnalmadar, as well as everyone that added the story to their favorites, or updates. You all continue to inspire and motivate me.

Also an even bigger thank you to Hajnalmadar (your ideas made this chapter sensational, in my humble opinion) and serpentinred (you gave clarity to what was a muddled chapter, and for that I'm ever grateful) for betaing this chapter.


	7. Ghostly Lessons

_Previously: Colin investigates a secret hideaway. A staff meeting passes judgment on a future dueling club. Hermione and Colin break into Headmaster Dumbledore's office, and find an intriguing box. Hermione holds her first Divination class, which reveals an interesting tarot reading. A Quidditch score revelation leads to problems. Riddle confronts Hermione._

Chapter 7

Sunlight flooded through the tall windows, throwing watery patches of color about the room. Dark paneling glowed like bronze in the golden rays. Books lay scattered about the floor and couches as if thrown there by a sudden twister. A corner of the room was jammed with many jars, flasks, and apparatuses containing odd potion ingredients and various herbs. In another corner sat a heavy cauldron. A simmering transparent pink concoction filled its hollow cavity.

Hermione stared out the windowpanes of her sitting room, yearning to stay in that moment until the world rotated fully and everything was set right. She gnawed her bottom lip thoughtfully. Her brain felt like a beehive, with thoughts humming, swarming, and flitting in erratic directions. Her meeting with Tom Riddle the previous day consumed her with a dread she had not felt since the Battle of Hogwarts. His promised observation had left her uneasy and resulted in her toiling into the night, brewing a particularly difficult potion with ingredients pinched from Slughorn's personal store.

The squeaking of the door alerted her to a presence. Whirling around, she drew her wand, just in time to see Colin trip over a book, sending the sack he was carrying flying. It hit a table holding several volatile potion ingredients. They both watched in horror as the ingredients came crashing down, the bottles breaking and the liquids mixing. Upon convergence, an explosion ensued, decimating a nearby plant. As the smoke cleared, there in front of her sat a very bewildered looking Colin.

"I hope you weren't very hungry," Colin said, looking at his mostly ruined bag with disappointment.

Hermione closed her eyes. When she opened them again, sure enough, Colin was still there in front of her, his sky blue robes slightly smoking. Waking from her trance, she rushed over to him to check on any damage he may have suffered. "Oh, Colin. Are you all right?"

Colin rose, brushing dirt and pieces of food from his robe. A lazy grin creased his face, as if being almost blown to bits was a normal daily occurrence. Though perhaps for him it was. He bent down and gathered the scattered objects about their feet. "I knew I should have invested in body armor. Where shall I put these?" Indicating several foodstuffs that escaped the blast. "I hadn't seen you for breakfast or lunch and I got worried."

Indicating the table before her, she helped Colin with the items, transforming the area into a sort of picnic nook. Sighing, Hermione replied, "I had a run in with You-Know-Who and spent the night creating a solution to our problems."

"You-Know – are you alright? No wonder you're on edge. Did he do anything?" Colin gazed at her with concern.

A slight blush infused her cheeks, remembering his proximity and actions that had rendered her immobile. Sternly wishing for a good Obliviate, she fought from coloring further. "No, just a warning." Switching subjects quickly lest Colin question her further, she stated, "That's why I created a modified version of the Fidelius Charm in potion form."

Drawing his eyebrows together in puzzlement, Colin queried, "Are we going into hiding? Isn't it a little late for that now?"

Shaking her head, Hermione spoke, "I've customized it. In the Fidelius Charm, a secret is stored within the soul of the Secret-Keeper. The secret generally pertains to a hidden location and only the Secret-Keeper has the power to reveal the secret. With the potion I have created, you think of what secret you wish to hide; the secret is then locked up, with the knowledge only accessible to you and whomever you shared the secret with. So just like the Fidelius Charm, if someone hasn't been given the information, they won't be able to discover the secret, even if they have an idea of what it may be. In this case, we would concentrate on our journey to the past and our –er incident with Dumbledore."

Colin looked at her a little uncertainly, "I suppose it's a good idea, but honestly, what's the point? Neither of us have any intention of going up to You-Know-Who and saying, 'Guess what? I've incapacitated your biggest enemy. Please make me your right hand man and while you're at it, throw in a few Crucios.'"

Wrinkling her noise at Colin's words, she pressed on, "Well then, how are your Occlumency skills? I admit I feel mine are decent, yet I have no clue how powerful a Legilimens he is. Further, this would prevent us from saying something incriminating even if questioned by Veritaserum."

Admitting the wisdom of Hermione's words, he turned his head toward the potion Hermione had been discussing. Near the cauldron that held the brew lay insect shells, saffron-colored seeds, and pungent leaves. Grimacing, he hoped that the taste would be better than some of the vile potions he was made to try in Snape's class. Grabbing the vial Hermione presented him with, he held his nose and swallowed. Concentrating on the memory he wanted to conceal, he felt cold tendrils surround it before expanding to grip several associated memories. He could feel the thought being wrapped inside an impenetrable stronghold that only he could enter.

His eyes fluttered open when he felt something weigh his hand down. On examination, the object held the appearance of a small misty marble. Looking closer, he was able to make out a sequence of events occurring within. Before he could get a better look, however, the small sphere was snatched from his hands. Releasing a small cry of protest, he watched in shock as Hermione placed the object into her mouth and swallowed. Turning her eyes to him, she grinned before pressing her index finger and thumb against the upper most corners of her lips and dragging them across the pillowy tracks as if zipping her mouth closed. In his state of confusion, it took Colin a moment before he remembered that it was the Muggle signal of locking away a secret and throwing away the key. Grinning, he then grabbed a similar sphere that lay in Hermione's outstretched hand and proceeded to mimic her.

oOo

"Aww, come on, Miss G. Can't you tell us who'd win the first Quidditch game of the season?" a tall, thin boy named Kenny Cork from Gryffindor pleaded.

At this point, another Gryffindor student chimed in, "Yeah! You'd being doing a great service, too." Seeing his teacher's doubtful look, he added, "Uh, in motivating us to do our best."

"And this wouldn't have anything to do with current bets I've seen you take from students?" Hermione looked at them piercingly. At the boy's vigorous denials, she continued, "Even if I knew who would win, which I don't, telling you could change the outcome, since you may not work as hard to achieve the win."

The boys exchanged glances at her words. They rapidly thanked their professor before excitedly running out of the classroom, their voices loud, "Did you hear that, Kenny? Gryffindor for the win! We'll rake in a ton of cash!"

Rolling her eyes, she plopped down on a nearby cushion, weary and wishing for sleep when she felt something pulling on her hair. Bringing her gaze upward, she saw Beeper getting tangled in her curls. Making a face, she painstakingly pulled him from her hair. She was glad that it was her last class of the day and no one would see or question the presence of the nargle.

Placing him on her lap, she addressed him, "Actually, I'm glad you're here since I have a mission for you." Pulling out two photos taken by Colin from her star-patterned robes, she presented the first to Beeper, "I want you to follow the man in the picture. Do you understand?" Observing the photo of the scowling individual carefully, he nodded before grabbing the photo and stuffing it into a tiny bottomless bag that Hermione had made for him. Then, showing him the second photo, she added, "If he ever comes near Dumbledore, let me know, okay? Do what we did in Bolivia."

A mischievous smile of understanding filled the nargle's face before the expression changed and he looked upon her expectantly. Smiling, Hermione replied, "Ah yes, payment." She then pulled a tiny box from her robes that had most likely held earrings at one point. Before she could do anything further, the box disappeared from her grasp, falling into Beeper's possession. Within a blink of an eye, the gift was opened with several squeaks of joy before the nargle fell to the floor in a ball, attempting to place the miniature socks onto his feet. On finally succeeding, he seemed to drunkenly salute her before disappearing once more.

Looking around at the now empty room, Hermione felt a moment of misgiving. What she had Beeper doing was dangerous, but it was the quickest way to gain information. They needed to discover something to change their current ignorance to knowledge and to find what evil fortunes may lie in wait, ready to pounce and engulf them. Riddle's words had frightened her more than she would want to admit. She knew he was planning something. As a woman who spent her life grounded in pragmatism, she knew it was best to be prepared, even if nothing was to occur. To do otherwise would be unthinkable.

oOo

There were some that claimed the end was just the beginning, but Helena Ravenclaw, Hogwart's Grey Lady, firmly disagreed. In her eyes, there was no beginning, middle, or end, just a monotonous continuity, shrouded with guilt and bitterness. Floating down a desolate hallway, her spectral appearance often had others turn the other way on her approach, which was why she was startled to notice an individual about to walk through her as if she ceased to exist at all.

"Pardon me, but I find it the height of rudeness to invade someone's personal space."

Taken aback, the young woman jumped and gazed upon her as if seeing her for the first time. Drinking in the girl's features, Helena realized that this was the new Divination professor, Mirage Greenhorn. The school had been abuzz about her predictions and odd behavior. Everyone seemed to take an interest in her, even the DADA professor, Tom Riddle. The ghost had jealously observed his interest grow in the young professor with every rumor, sighting and conversation. Playing people like puppets, he diligently tried to force chance encounters with the girl. Yet, the girl managed to avoid his woven web and remained oblivious to his attempts, always flitting about up and down the castle or sharing company with the awkward buffoon, Levy.

"So you're the one who is rumoured to have the sight," the ghost bit out harshly.

The witch, however, remained silent as if weighing what should be said. After a long moment, she finally spoke, "My sight is no different than any other. Only my perspective and experience makes it seem otherwise."

Like a temperamental wind, the Lady Ravenclaw suddenly shifted her tone to one of comradery; allies fighting their oppressors. "Indeed. The perspective of youth, something elder individuals fail to understand. Instead they bolt them to the ground, preventing their wings from spreading and taking flight, so they may seek their own wisdom." Concluding her speech, she took in the black loom of the still castle around her and the yellow speck of light steadily burning in Miss Greenhorn's clutched hands.

Noting the ghost's wistfulness, Mirage hesitated before replying, "She loved you, you know."

"Oh." The ghost fixated her gaze upon the professor. "Who might that be?"

Biting her lip briefly, the girl plunged forward. "Your mother." She then flinched as if preparing to be struck down.

Silence pervaded for many minutes before the ghost spoke again, her tone bitter. "And what would you know about my mother?"

Gaining courage, Mirage continued, "I know Rowena Ravenclaw was a wise and kind woman. Protecting you... refusing to tell others the true location of the diadem. She loved you... up to and including the end."

A ghostly tear made its way down the specter's face, her smile melancholy. Helena moved closer, outstretching her hand and placing her palm on the speaker's cheek. Her touch was as cold as a block of marble. "Hmm, a different perspective indeed, there are few that are aware of my story and even fewer who would be willing to share it. It is something I find myself appreciating. So now, I will share something with you."

Pausing, she reflected on how much to tell. "Men often do not believe even what they see…. many secret chambers and compartments lie beyond these walls, containing things that should never be sought. Long ago, there was a map created by a young girl who searched for wisdom in these walls, a map that noted all its precious secrets. Of course, secrets are not meant to be told nor written down, but locked away." At this point, the Grey Lady's tone took a bitter turn. "So the map was taken by the so called 'wise' and since it could not be destroyed, it was placed in an impenetrable box, then tossed away as refuse. The secrets are now past down through word of mouth with some being forgotten completely. So the gates crumble."

At this point, Miss Greenhorn interrupted, "Gates?"

"The gates of knowledge, gates to the future, the seven gates that once were an intrinsic part of Hogwarts. Take your pick. Truth and knowledge shine a light on lies and ignorance and so repair many faulty visions, allowing the mind to move from its perpetually blank state. In that moment, everything lives and breathes until corruption seeps into the foundations once again. Decay begins and doors close to avoid the stench. Facades are built around the cruel ugliness of despair. So society suffers once again. Crumbling. Crumbling into pieces." At her final words, the Grey Lady began to drift away, mumbling more words under her breath, leaving a very thoughtful Hermione Granger in her wake.

oOo

Stumbling slowly along in the cover of darkness, lost in thought, Hermione's mind flitted over the Grey Lady's words once again. Never in all her readings of _Hogwarts__: A__ Histor__y_ had she encountered anything resembling what she was told. First the mysterious pit, now a possibility of further hidden chambers and compartments? Hermione suddenly shuddered as she remembered the Grey Lady's warning. The Basilisk was most likely one of those things that should not be sought. Her eyes widened as she realized the creature may be slithering beneath her very own feet. At this thought, her pace increased. Faster and faster, her heels clicked upon the floor below. The hushed whispers of the portraits she passed only lent to her growing fear. Her thoughts brewing like a storm, she failed to watch her steps and tripped over a loose stone.

Falling to the ground, she heard someone utter "_Lumos_." She turned her head ever so slightly, as the individual's low tone seemed hauntingly familiar.

"Lose something, Miss Greenhorn?" the voice of Tom Riddle spoke silkily. Glancing up, she saw him standing over her, fondling _her_ wand. His stance imperial, he looked down upon her with an expression of delight, like a carnivorous beast that finally caught its prey. Rising quickly, she held out her hand expectantly.

Gritting her teeth, she spoke, "Yes, thank you. How kind of you to find it."

His eyes briefly ran over the smooth skin of the outstretched hand. "My pleasure," he confided. Yet still, he did not relinquish his grasp on the wand.

"Tell me, Miss Greenhorn, why you insist on creeping around like a naughty schoolchild planning mischief. Certainly you are aware how to cast a simple Lumos?" Riddle questioned her, as he continued to fiddle with the wand in his hands.

Riled, Hermione reached for her wand. "Of course I do, I just simply like the dark. Now please hand over my wand." She slightly cringed at how foolish and desperate she sounded and that just served to incense her even more.

He looked at Hermione and lifted the wand out of her reach, amusement flitting across his features. She angrily tried to grasp the wand without making contact, as if he was repulsive. However, her efforts were simply pointless and ineffective and only made him goad her further. Hermione's fury increased with each attempt she made to grab the item out of his hand. The wand dangled directly above her, held in the serpent's coils and resembling bait used to lure unsuspecting victims into the predator's lair.

Unarmed, her options were limited, but she refused to turn her back and walk away, however sadistic his game was. Noticing that he had taken no steps to use her wand or draw his own, she halted her backward movements and regarded him suspiciously. His eyes never leaving hers, he raised one arrogant eyebrow challenging her, daring her to touch him while holding her wand just above his head. Hesitating, the tip of her tongue crept out and pressed on her upper lip before she looked at him again. He stared back at her appraisingly, a malicious smile curling his lips, as if he thought her incapable of meeting him in battle. Seeing her rub the exposed flesh on her arms, he gave a look of triumph as if he had already won the wandless duel. Irritation flared through Hermione. Trepidation melting away, she rose to meet his unspoken challenge. Firmly resolved in her next course of action, her hand made its ascent past his firm chest and hastily brushed by his cheek and lusciously soft locks, wary of the serpent's strike as she tried to reclaim what was rightfully hers.

Her touch caused shuttered eyes to open, changing from their normal unfathomable depths to something more. It was as if the mask of masquerade had fallen. Shifting, he slipped the wand out of reach once again. Bringing his mouth closer to her ear, he hotly whispered, "Do you really like the dark, Miss Greenhorn?"

His look became primal, consuming, demanding.

"Do you like its illicit thrill, knowing that it can bring much satisfaction in many different ways?" His voice was like a spider's web surrounding her with an aim to capture and conquer. "_If_ you just surrender yourself."

His tone was laced with innuendo. A sense of déjà vu kicked in. Her apprehension increased. It reached inside the dark crevices of her mind, touching on a chain of casualty she refused to acknowledge. Eyeing his wand that peeked out of his robe pocket, she sought to regain a bit of power. A step forward, a step back, their feet glided round the echoing stone floor, turning, moving, circling - their body and mind in a tango-like battle for supremacy.

Endeavoring to nourish the conversation in order to predict, and in effect grab control of, the situation and what would occur next, she dragged her eyes away from his wand and met his gaze. "Why should I surrender myself to what I find lacking and incapable of truly satisfying anyone fully?"

His eyes narrowed, "Such a hasty assumption. Perhaps the morsels you have been fed were displeasing. I'm certain a taste of what I could show you would leave you thirsting for more."

Danger loomed, Hermione's heart fluttered uncomfortably in her chest despite herself. Nonetheless, she had no intent of abandoning her plan no matter how ill conceived. She placed a hand on his chest and leaned forward, closing what little gap separated them. It was a dance choreographed for them alone, their bodies melding into one another. She was so close she could make out the fibers in his robes. She caught a whiff of sandalwood and orange, knowing intimately from whence it came. Her voice soft, she spoke, "An unquenchable thirst does not speak toward satisfaction."

His eyes darkening, the timber of his voice became deeper as he pretended to consider her words for a moment. "True, I suppose it is closer to a pleasurable addiction." His insinuations clear as she felt a warm hand gently run down the slopes of her robes. Her hips swiveling, she directed her attention to obtaining his wand, but he tormented her by shifting their positions again and denying its capture.

The friction between their bodies generated a sweltering inferno. Beads of sweat began to develop upon their brows, their breathing erratic. Gripping his arms, Hermione futilely attempted to still him, resulting instead in only becoming more entangled in his clutches. It was an embrace of a devastating passion, a duel for dominance.

Another step back, then another, soon Hermione's back hit the stone wall of the corridor. The walls' contact quickly forced the reality of the situation upon her. Now, not only was she still wandless, but trapped. Their dance had left her cornered and him in total control. She felt him with every part of her, from her shoulders to her knees. All hard masculine muscularity. She felt suffocated, engaged in a battle that no one told her the rules to.

Reaching toward his robe pocket, she attempted to get a handle on his wand. "All addictions end in self-destruction."

"Even knowledge, Miss Greenhorn?" he questioned as he tilted her chin upwards to look upon him.

Her stomach twisting with nerves, her hands wrapped around the base of his wand. "Especially knowledge, Mr. Riddle."

Whispering, his lips neared hers, "Then you should know how dangerous it is to handle another wizard's wand." His hand wrapped atop hers, preventing her from maneuvering his wand in any manner.

Blinking in confusion, she attempted to get him to loosen his grip, but it was useless.

"Tsk, tsk. That's not very polite." He looked back coolly, completely in control, no evidence of the desire from before on his face. Forcing her fingers off the wand, he drew the instrument from his pocket and traced its tip along her cheek.

Glaring at him defiantly, she spat out, "Funny coming from someone who holds my wand."

Running the tip of his wand down, he drew her attention to her own robe pocket. "You mean the wand in your robes? Honestly, Miss Greenhorn, such accusations." The realization left her both stunned and disgusted to find that she had not been even aware of him returning her wand. Riddle continued to speak, "Would you like my advice?"

Infuriated at being shown up in such a way, she eagerly wished to wipe the grin from his face. It was the smile of a politician - expedient, watchful, and non-committal. It did not reach his eyes. "No, I wouldn't care for your advice at all." She paused briefly, absently noticing little specks floating in the rays of the moonlight. They were like tiniest grains of dust, so insignificant, whirling around and gathering in clusters in a nebulous sort of way. Inspired, the corners of her mouth lifted in a grin. "I doubt your advice is even worth the dust the wind blows in your face."

He smirked, but before he could respond, Professor Kettleburn rounded the corner and hobbled toward them.

"Good evening, Mr. Riddle, Miss Greenhorn. You didn't seem to notice a mouse run past here recently, did you?"

"A mouse, Silvanus?" Riddle boredly inquired.

Realizing how unusual his request may have sounded, he elaborated, "Hmm, well, a mouse-like creature in any case. A very unusual specimen." Seeing the negative shakes of their heads, he sighed. "No. Ah well. The night does tend to play tricks on one's vision, but I'm tickled to have run into you, Tom." Pulling Riddle closer, Kettleburn began chattering about conducting some sort of experimental trial.

Noticing Riddle's brief distraction, she quietly excused herself. She was anxious to be left alone so that she could give her whole mind to the events that had taken place. Hurrying her pace, she noticed Beeper sitting atop one of the armored knights. Quickly realizing that her furry friend was the reason for Kettleburn's timely arrival, she shot him a grateful wink before disappearing up several stairs.

oOo

Though the hour was late, the Hog's Head was still bustling with activity, some not as scrupulous as others, since the dinginess of the tavern lent itself to the more sinister trades.

On Tom Riddle's entry, customers swirled around him. Grimy drunks brushed past him, but his sober figure gave them no notice. His eyes were locked on one of the inhabitants at the far side of the bar.

In the glow of the tavern's light, the other man's face slid into view and the scar at his jaw gleamed with cold brilliance, offsetting his other aristocratic features. He was a tall man swathed in a heavy, caped robe. His eyes were brooding, their silvery depths a glint in the firelight. On seeing Riddle, he nodded his head in acknowledgment.

On arrival to the table, Riddle sat down with his hands resting on the carved wooden arms of the chair, giving off a dominant air before stating, "I assume you have the necessary information."

The man nodded. Feeling weary, he attempted to gauge Riddle's response before making his request, "The investigation I undertook was no simple task and will need greater compensation."

"Indeed? Compensation for effort?" Riddle chuckled humorlessly. "I assume this a poor attempt at humor." His tone turned harsh. "I believe I have stated to you, I award solely for results. I do hope you didn't bring me here to discuss your efforts, for I'm certain that will only lead to awkwardness and I do despise awkwardness among colleagues."

The man was saved from addressing his blunder as a portly waitress arrived to take their orders. An opportunist at heart, she pounced hoggishly at ever opportunity, collecting rumors greedily and treasuring gossip. She was alert for every signal and sensitive to relations and situations that did not exist. Gazing at the two men, she mentally concluded that they must be of great wealth and power and was thus eager to be of service to them. "Well loves, what can I get for you fine gentlemen this evening?"

Exchanging glances, it was a moment before Riddle replied, politely inclining his head and dismissing her, "Nothing, my lady."

Eager to wrack up a sale or attain some gossip, the woman heedlessly plowed on, "Certainly there is something on the menu that interests you, or perhaps something off the menu?" She batted her lashes coquettishly. "We have many exquisite items that would interest you."

Rolling his eyes at the woman impertinent assumptions, Riddle questioned her, "And what would you know of our interests?"

She smiled, revealing several decayed teeth. "Enough to see you're men of opportunity, with interests in the darker things in life."

"Do we now? I'm afraid you're sorely mistaken. You would do well to be careful in what you say next time. Insinuations such as these can lead to ... undesirable consequences." At the hardness of his tone, the woman took a step back.

"Of course. My...my mistake. Well then, I'll be off. Clearly, you're not in need of me." She then proceeded to retreat sheepishly with an abject and humiliated air.

The men then turned back to each other, continuing their conversation as if no one had interrupted. The man with the scar then flashed Riddle a dragonhide case and a crooked grin, "Within lies the information you seek. I had to utilize my charms."

Eyeing the man coldly and with a clinical indifference, Tom replied, "Then, it seems that they were charmed more slowly then they should have been."

Ignoring the jab on his talents, the man continued, "She seems to be quite valuable. I had to cast several Obliviates, which I dislike doing."

"I fail to see how such a trifle concerns me. I wish to hear discovery and not your predilections."

Sniffing at his words being dismissed in such a way, he bit his tongue. It would not do to argue. He was too well bred for that. Continuing on, he stated, "There was no photo to confirm the identity, though the physical description matches: early twenties, brown hair and eyes. It turns out Mira Greenhorn, as she is better known as, is a runaway pureblood heiress. Family was eager to quell the rumors of her 'loose morals' and so arranged to marry her off to some 80-year-old wizard. Disappeared about a month ago. They figure she's run off with one of her lovers. They've narrowed the list to the last twenty."

Raising an eyebrow, Riddle cast his eyes off to the side in thought. The woman sounded like a harlot. The words in the file contrasted greatly from his observations of her at Hogwarts. The blushes that stained her cheeks in their encounters spoke of a more innocent being. That meant nothing, as he himself knew just how deceiving appearances could be. Still, he disliked being connived in any shape or form. If what he was being told was true, perhaps a more interesting fate will lie in store for both Miss Greenhorn and Mr. Levy.

The man was cut off from his speech by Riddle, "You've the list, correct?"

At the man's blank look, he narrowed his eyes, "You do recollect I requested information of her associates as well?"

The man's heart constricted. His head felt as if it was wrapped in a vise, the pressure increasing. Riddle sighed, "And here I had hoped to avoid such uncomfortableness. A simple yes or no will suffice."

Gazing into the Riddle's eyes proved frightening. Remorseless, tinged with black humor. Gulping, the man stuttered out, "No. I mean, yes! The information is all in the case." The pressure immediately receded and he gave a breath of relief.

Gesturing, the Dark Lord gave an impatient wave. "Very well. You may proceed."

Speaking more hurriedly now, the man continued. "Turns out they are exceedingly eager to get her back, as it seems she's run off with _Merlin's Book of Prophecies_ from the family vault. Other interesting tidbits I discovered include: Arrested twice for Dark Art Dealings; one count of assault, which was dropped, as it was a house elf; masterminded the "Thestrals Con" of '52 at the age of 17, got away scot-free with $1.2 million galleons after blaming the whole thing on her partner, Ron Otter; and finally suspected of torching Condition Alley in Iceland when she was ten." He handed the rest of the documents to Riddle. "Why is this so important anyway?"

There was no answer from Riddle who sat in the shadows. He only frowned, studying the paperwork in front of him. As he flipped through the pages, he muttered several words that could not be heard through the din of the tavern.

Realizing how foolish his question sounded, the man spoke again, "I hope I have provided you with the results you desire."

At this, Riddle looked up, his face revealing none of the malice his words held, "Quite. After all, to know our enemies' minds, we rip out their hearts. It seems I have all the information I shall need for now."

At this point, a fight broke out within the tavern. During the chaos that ensued, nobody noticed the two figures slide out of the shadows and slip through the door.

oOo

Colin's upper lip was dewy with nervous perspiration. His eyes locked with those of suspicion - ones that were searching for signs of deceit and itching to escort him to Azkaban.

_flashback_

The task was supposed to be simple: slip in while Deputy Headmaster Rugen was away from his office, get the box, and slip out. Instead, on his journey there, whom should he meet but Rugen himself accompanied by a bitter Auror Hastings and another man.

The man was tall, slim, clean-shaven, with flaxen hair and a lean-jaw. He appeared to be between twenty and thirty years of age, dressed in red Auror robes. Scrutinizing him, Colin was startled to recognize him as Mad-Eye Moody.

Rugen's eyes alighting upon Colin, he spoke, "Ah, Professor Levy, how wonderful to see you. We were just coming to find you. I'm sure you have a lot to report to these men here. If you gentlemen will excuse me, I have several troublemakers waiting for me in my office." He then dismissed himself, leaving the young man with Moody and an irritated Hastings. Once Colin's lifeline was out of sight, the Head Auror dragged him to an empty classroom for interrogation.

_end flashback_

"I will not tolerate impertinence." Hastings glowered at Colin with swollen fury for a moment. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Colin gulped, passively wondering how Dementors were as bunkmates. "Yes, sir."

Hastings scowled at him, "Then tell me why precisely did Rugen commend you to me and said that you'd fill me in on your activities? I can tell you right now that I have no interest in hearing about your day, teaching idiotic, sons of banshee* children something so simple a flobberworm could do. So I will ask you now: do those activities include murdering Professor Dumbledore?"

"Sir… _attempted_ murder," Moody whispered as he stepped closer, trying to politely correct the grumpy Head Auror.

Hastings slowly turned toward Moody and bit out furiously, "Step. Away. Now."

Mody was quickly silenced, retreating to a corner of the room.

Turning back to Colin, Hastings continued in a harsh tone, "Well Professor Levy, tell me then of your involvement with the _attempted_ murder of Professor Dumbledore."

The words took away his breath for an instant; a glance at the raging face warned him that he must tread carefully. Figuring he had nothing to lose since he would probably be carted off to Azkaban either way, he gave a brief prayer to Hermione before leaning forward. "I see nothing can get by your keen eyes, which is just as well. I have been hired on behalf of Hogwarts to investigate the Dumbledore incident. Investigator Cicerone Levy at your service, gentlemen."

"Investigator, eh?" Hastings was not convinced, "Then why didn't Rugen just say so? Why all the secrecy? Tell me: where is your identification? What department do you work for? No, Levy. I suspect you are a liar and a fraud. I suggest you come quietly, you lollygagging lemur."

Though anxious, Colin retained his steady tone, "Tell me, Hastings. How would it look to arrest an innocent fellow law enforcement official, especially one in the Minister's favor?"

This time, the man's pupils noticeably dilated. "Poppycock," he snorted.

"Would you like to test that fact? I'm sure the Minister would enjoy having the man who saved his life behind bars." Disregarding the narrowing of Hasting's eyes, Colin continued on, getting into his role. He swished his robes dramatically as he spoke, "Who do you think sent that owl warning him of Bandito Slaughter?"

Hastings's hands moved restlessly over the oak table. Colin saw a speck of sweat break out along his brow as he pondered the implications. Colin mentally sighed. He hoped it would be enough. The information of the assassination attempt would not come out until 1971, so he was certain the department kept it under tight wraps.

Finally, Hastings spoke, a tight smile across his face, looking as if he would rather have limbs sliced off than talk to Colin, "Welcome on board, Investigator. Why don't you fill me in?"

oOo

The staff library at Hogwarts was surprisingly large and spotlessly clean. Decorated with a blend of house colors, it contrived at one and the same time to be both gloomy and a touch exotic. Books lined most of the walls except the one where a fire roared. Above the fire hung an enormous portrait. It showed a woman in a delicate muslin dress with a silk scarf, sitting and reading to a blind man, whose face was radiating happiness. They sat among piles of treasure so bright, it seemed to send small sparks flying in every direction.

Hermione was anything but happy. The Twinkle's trunk with its ingredients still eluded them. The only thing they possessed was the liverwood. In addition, Dumbledore's condition lay unchanged, sending her into another research frenzy for a cure that may never be found.

Additionally, yesterday had been like a nightmare, as if she had dropped from reality into a parallel universe. Riddle's look of want both frightened and confused her. What did he want? Did he believe her a true seer, like the others? No, otherwise he would not have frightened her. Perhaps he still held a grudge against her for spitting at him. If that was the case, she was certain he would have exacted some sort of revenge. Maybe he was biding his time. Maybe it was not her he was after. There was a good chance he recognized that it was Colin who followed him that one day. Numerous ifs, whats, and maybes filled her mind. She moaned in frustration. Why did evil have to be so complex?

Turning back to the books in front of her, another moan exited her mouth. Having sat in her seat for the past two hours, she had looked over numerous magical history books to no avail. There was not a crumb of information in regards to the gates or additional chambers the Grey Lady referenced. Chambers that might hold the key to all their problems. She hoped Colin was having better results attaining the box from the Headmaster's office.

Drumming her fingers against the mahogany table, she considered making her way down two floors to investigate the books found in the main library. Her face grew melancholy recollecting the rest of her friends and how far from home she really was.

Feeling a nudge against her hand, she looked up and saw a ball of brown and white looking at her with an expression of concern. Pasting on a weary smile, she stroked Beeper's soft fur, eliciting a purr from the nargle. Sensing her sadness, he opened his little bottomless bag and shuffled through it. She looked on, curious as to what he was looking for. Finally, he pulled out the most gorgeous ring she had ever seen, a gleaming silver and green one, and held it above him as an offering to her. Pursing her lips, she wanted to scold him, as he most likely stole it from some Slytherin student, but seeing him look at her so hopefully, she could not bring herself to refuse his gift. Placing it on her finger, she decided she could figure out who the owner was later. Giving the nargle a smile of thanks, she finally spoke, "What are you doing here anyway?" she asked. Beeper looked faintly guilty before he disappeared as quick as a blink.

"This is a staff library and I am staff." Hermione shivered, knowing the voice was one that had whispered suggestive intimacies into her ear just the day before.

Summoning her courage, she stood and turned in Tom Riddle's direction. Shadows clung to the corners of the room and teased his tall figure, braced at the mantel above the dancing fire. Always wary of his intentions and roving eye, she shivered, unnaturally cold as she stood before him.

His presence unnerved her. "What do you want?"

"What makes you think I want anything?" His chuckle contained a decidedly devilish sound. "I do believe you're not a very trusting woman."

"You're one to talk. You know nothing of me, yet insist on examining my motives. Now you're questioning my trust in you? Considering you have given me nothing to trust, I find your assessment laughable," Hermione huffed with a righteous rage.

His lips rising marginally in amusement, he spoke, "Defensive as well."

"I am not defensive." Though she spoke the words, she knew her defensive instinct could never be denied in his presence. No amount of persuasion would force her to take her gaze off him.

"Aren't you?" Again the lazy smile, which was growing quite infuriating. Again the shrewd consideration. He awaited her response.

Hermione glared at him. She opened her mouth to deliver a scathing comment, then realized it would only serve as confirmation.

"I am a better person then you'll ever be." Her tone was ironclad.

"Just a matter of perspective. You realize, Miss Greenhorn, lies and trickery have a way of catching up to people, affecting their future in a monumental way."

Hermione felt her heart clench. "I don't know what you're talking about." She met his gaze and feigned nonchalance.

_Riddle's POV_

He assessed her face with an unflinching regard, his expression hard, taking in the way her eyes flitted away. He studied the slim line of her jaw and noted the way she fiddled nervously with the quill in her hand. He knew she was lying.

One corner of his mouth curled upward. "What say we play a game?"

He watched as her eyes widened, uncertainty darkening their beautiful coffee-colored depths. A fine tremble in her hand thwarted the smooth gesture of straightening the snarls of hair clumped around her shoulder. Focusing his attentions on her ring encased hand, he raised both eyebrows in an expression that could surely freeze grapes on a vine and cause ruination of a harvest for a whole year. His lips became tight and flat, all traces of gaiety leaving his shoulders. He looked at her with a heavy depth of venom and contempt on his face.

Approaching her, he closed the distance between them and captured her hand into his possession. Her fingers twitched and she shifted her head ever so slightly, her lips parted and her mouth upturned. They stood so close that he could feel her warm breath upon his throat, steeped with a spiraling thread of terror.

He voiced himself after a long moment. "What an interesting ring. Tell me, Mira. Do you make it a habit of stealing from others?"

.

.

* * *

*credit goes to the Potter puppet pals in wizarding swears (which I found most informative). :-)

.

(1) A/N: First off, I would like to thank all my readers and my fantastic reviewers, including Vinz112, Charlotte232, RJLupinFan, charlemagnebrat1, pstibbons, the-quiet-girl, misqette. A thank you also to cursed21, I hope I did your idea justice.

I would also love to send a wonderfully big thank you to my two betas, Hajnalmadar and SerpentInRed, who inspired and greatly aided me in forming the beautiful sequences in this chapter. This chapter would not have achieved its amazing finishing flare without the both of you. *hugs*

(2) A/N: To all my readers, I would love to hear your opinions in regards to the plot or character development, or anything else you wish to comment on. Reviews help fuel my writing and my muse as well. Many thank you's in advance!


	8. Dark Waters

Previously: Hermione and Colin make a magical pact so Riddle won't find out they're from the future. Hermione talks with the Grey Lady, and has a brief 'dance' with Riddle. Riddle and his informant meet at the Hog's Head. Hermione visits the staff library only to meet with Riddle once again, who accuses her of stealing from him.

* * *

Chapter 8: Dark Waters

Confusion and terror warred for supremacy as Hermione struggled to make sense of Riddle's words. Though she admitted to playing a highly dangerous game of deceit, she had stolen nothing. Yet, his adamant words spoke otherwise. Then like a boulder falling on top of her head, realization crashed in. The ring she wore _belonged to him_.

She stumbled over her words, as she attempted to formulate an explanation for her possession of the ring. "I haven't – I mean- I didn't know it was yours. I found it."

Immediately, his eyes narrowed but before she could register the danger, his fingers tightly gripped her wrist, twisting her arm. A sharp pain flowed through her upper limb, causing her to let out a yelp. Trying to pull away from him, his opposing force led her to tumble sideways. Swooping in his other hand prevented her from falling any further by clenching her shoulder and holding her up.

"My, my, my… You found it. Where? Was it in my home? Do tell. I am extremely fascinated. Though first- I feel we need a little privacy." His words were biting, the underlying fury seeping in every sentence. Removing his hand from her shoulder he waved it in a complicated gesture sending a gust of wind whipping around them like a tornado, extinguishing the fire that roared heartily moments before. His orders were clear. Escape was impermissible. And like a loyal subject to a king, the room bowed to his whim as all possible exits to the room ceased to exist, the loud snaps of the doors locking, echoing throughout the room.

It was as if she was trapped in a horror movie, just before the killing blow. She could hardly see a thing in the room clearly. She frantically looked for an exit, but to no avail. She turned back to him, trying to make out his expression. The flickering light streaming through the windows cast an evil glow about his face.

_A demon promising doom._

His mouth was near her ear, his harsh voice invading her very being. "Now tell me." Hermione's heart raced as she searched for something to say. She was certain that silence would carry a greater penalty, but she knew that nothing she said would satisfy him. His demand was clear: he wanted punishment.

Her soft cheek pressed against his rougher one as she whispered back to him. "I have done nothing-" Before she could continue, Riddle pulled back abruptly from her, letting out a short clipped laugh. "Nothing? Nothing? My dear, you have done many things, but nothing is not one of them."

His hand moved from her wrist encasing her own hand. The pads of his fingers ran across the back of hers. His movements highlighted her possession of the ring. She trembled, but refused to do anything that would raise Riddle's ire further. She knew the ring's significance and currently gave a sigh of relief that no greater charms had been set upon the ring yet, lest she suffer in a slow and humiliating death.

She debated the merits and possibilities of getting Riddle to allow her to keep the piece, before mentally deriding herself at this outlandish idea. It would be a fruitless venture and serve only to infuriate Riddle more. In addition, no matter how much she wished to dismantle his growing empire of evil, she was begrudgingly aware to do so would affect the future even more and perhaps lead it to irreparable chaos. A chill ran down her spine, as she realized she might not live to see the future given her current position. She drew in a shaky breath.

"Do I distress you?"

She blinked. He distressed her greatly, yet she would never admit such a weakness out loud. Instead she repeated his question back to him, "Do _I_ distress you?"

At his raised eyebrow, she quickly clarified, "I mean all this-" she loosely gestured with her free hand, "-for a little trinket?" She tried to sound disbelieving as if she was not aware of the value of the ring.

Riddle scoffed, before tightening his grip on her ring clad hand. "You will find I am quite a possessive man. I dislike items belonging to me to be trifled with in any way." Pausing he looked at her again. "Though I must applaud you for your efforts to sidestep my query, I'm beginning to find this wearisome. _Legilimens_."

His final words were spoken softly, no more then a whisper, that she was unprepared for the power behind the onslaught. He was searching through her memories at a brutal pace. The potion she took earlier kept the memories relating to the future and Dumbledore hidden. Yet still it did not stop him from viewing several treasured moments of childhood. A girl eating ice cream. A trip to the zoo. Gathering her energy she directed him away from her past and tried to push him from her mind. It was like a battle against a dragon, whose potent flames burned holes through the shields of defense.

Soon he arrived to the memory created moments before when she was presented with the ring. His mercilessness filled her with fatigue, but she refused to have Beeper implicated in this. A final reserve of magic coursed through her, blocking the nargle's appearance from Riddle's greedy eyes, before pushing him out completely and barricading him from entering her thoughts. Exhaustion slowly wrapped blindfolds over her eyes and the last thing she registered was the warmth of his chest as she slumped against him.

------------------

Tom Riddle contemplated the slight figure cradled against him. She had simultaneously impressed and incensed him. He had been so close to unlocking a key memory, before she unceremoniously thrust him out.

Noting the slight glow of the barricade she had implemented around her mind, he knew he would be unable to attain further information anytime soon. He found her method quite curious. The barrier she had invoked was not typically seen in those occluding their mind. In fact the technique was only described in a single text that had been written by Meadus Moore in 1324, _Muddling Minds_. Only three copies were known to be left, one of which he owned.

He shifted her body as her curly locks invaded his senses. Wrapping her arms around his neck, he proceeded to lift her effortlessly from her slumped position. Once she was ensconced securely in his grasp, his eyes sought a surface to depose her. He raised his brow as she snuggled against him, her breath tickling his neck. Shrugging away the unintentional intimacy, he carried her to the couch and lay her on the cushions in mock tenderness.

From what he did see of her mind, it appeared as if she was telling the truth. How inconvenient. He had been hoping to make her squirm some more, perhaps implement a few pleasurable tortures.

Muttering an _incendio_, he reignited the fire. Hearing a moan, he turned to observe her intermittently stirring form. Deceitfulness wrapped in an innocent shell. The thought sparked a wry grin. She intrigued him and had the propensity of being useful. A plot began to take shape in his mind, stirring and sprouting. He currently held the advantage and planned to keep it.

But first - no person would hold his soul. He did not create this _Horcrux_ to be brandied about so carelessly. Leaning over her, he wrapped his hand around hers, and slid the ring carefully off her person and placed it into a pocket in his robes.

Straightening his bent figure he strode toward a nearby table and grabbed a sheet of parchment that lay on top. He studied the parchment for a moment, before Transfiguring it into a ring identical to his. Holding the faux ring tightly in his hand, he muttered several other spells under his breath, including a tracking spell and sticking spell. Once finished, he sat besides her, taking her hand again, and slipped the ring almost caressingly back on her.

His decision was both casual and bold, but the risks were minimal and the rewards potentially great. There was a chance that something could go wrong anywhere along the line. Yet therein lay the cunning of his scheme. If any wrong were to befall, he would not be in its path. She made it obvious that war could not be avoided.

In his opinion, dueling was not done until all the enemies weaknesses were discovered, as their fall became that much faster. He resented the element of imprecision and guesswork. The unique ring he had placed on her should eliminate both, and allow him to keep his advantage no matter how small it be.

His dark eyes drank in the witch laying next to his seated form. He was well aware that most men judged more by the eye than by the hand. After all, everyone could see and few could feel. He held his facade because of this. Everyone saw who he appeared to be, but few really knew who he was. Just as he was certain few really knew the woman at his side. The way her eyes would pass through him in a peculiar way. An odd combination of fear and knowledge. He did not believe her a seer. He had seen several and knew better. Still she discomforted him in a way he could not put into words. Instead, he would feed her fear of him and eventually she would allow herself to fall to his whim, like everyone else.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" a tired voice broke through his train of thought. He looked back at her in silence for a few moments.

"Mmm, yes. I have decided I've behaved quite poorly toward you recently, and wish for you to keep the ring as a token of peace." He smiled mockingly down at her.

-----------------

Hermione pulled herself away from the smile, away from the burning insincerity that radiated behind it. Stumbling from her place on the couch she stood and faced his seated form, which was now sprawled causally on the couch she absconded a moment ago. Despite his lazy appearance she was apprehensive to turn her back to him.

Registering his words, she looked down at the Devil's Ring that still rested on her finger. She had to grit her teeth a moment before she could manage a smile. "How kind of you. Now tell me why?"

Cocking his head he regarded her carefully, "You do not believe me. Do you not believe it is from the kindness of my heart? A chance to make amends?"

Brown eye searched his expression. "You're not a kind man."

"How clever of you to realize that fact, but you're not entirely correct. I do practice kindness…. when its convenient."

Convenience. Hermione pondered his statement. Did he jinx the ring with something deadly? She eyed him wearily. He stood from his seat, approaching her. Silent. Tense. Compelling. Grabbing the ring she made to remove it. To her horror now matter how hard she pulled, the ring refused to budge. He stopped less then a meter away observing her unsuccessful attempts.

She brandished the ring in front of him. "How is this a peace offering?"

As if amused by a private joke, he replied, "You can now enjoy the ring in a permanent fashion. If you prefer I can remove it." Hermione held out her hand. "Though I doubt you would like to end up like Professor Kettleburn. Missing limbs are quite unattractive." Dropping her hand she gave him a murderous glance.

"Remove it." She demanded.

"Unless it by sword, I will not acquiesce. I really think you must tolerate my small demands when I'm showing such restraint and consideration in the larger ones." Riddle looked at her with something akin to pity. "You do realize you're going to lose."

Her jaw squared, "I have a chance and I have no intention of losing."

"Are you planning on changing the rules of the game? You'll find I adapt very easily. I always end up on top." He wagged his brow suggestively.

Though she ignored his bold words, Hermione knew she could not ignore him. Especially now when he so neatly challenged her. "And just what are the rules?"

He ignored the question. Silence reigned briefly before he abruptly spoke, "I believe we'll dispense our little game for now."

Annoyed at how casually he was dismissing her, sarcasm dripped from her voice, "Oh, and here I was just beginning to enjoy myself. An assault on my mind and an irremovable ring; both on the same day. Do you show such appreciation to all your coworkers?"

Again he ignored her, his words laconic. "I grow bored." He smiled cynically. "You will find I grow bored with exceptional ease."

She felt a queer pang she refused to admit was hurt. She couldn't read him nearly as well as he did her. She had to escape, she had to remove the ring. For all she knew, he was distracting her from preventing her own demise. She lifted her chin. "I have to go."

"By all means run away." He bowed courteously.

Halting her backward tracks she looked up on him. "There is nothing to run from. Yet, I promise you I will make your plans that much more difficult."

He took a step toward her so that his height would intimidate her, but she didn't budge an inch. "I don't like threats."

"Who's threatening? You told me how it's going to be, and I merely told you how I'll react."

She would have liked for that to be the end of it. It should have been the end of it. Removing herself from the room. She didn't get very far before Riddle's words struck her back like shards of glass, lacerating, drawing blood.

"So selfish. Although what can be expected from someone who causes their friend to suffer. I'm sure Ron would agree."

.oOo.

Sweat dripped from the pores of Colin's face. For the second time in the past two days, Colin found himself trapped in a small enclosure. The closet he hid in was stifling. Swathes of dusty robes encircled his head and odd knick-knacks littered the ground at his feet. Despite this, he felt the ordeal an improvement over Hastings interrogation.

He glanced at the box clutched tightly in his hands, the reason for his current predicament. The box was to hold some information pertaining to the discovery of the lock. He had been so close to removing the box and himself from the room, when a different entrance to Headmaster's office had opened. An entrance Colin did not even know existed. It was only luck that prevented him from being seen by Rugen and another man that seemed to resemble Hagrid.

Pressing his ear against the door Colin strained to hear what was being said between Deputy Headmaster Rugen and his visitor. After several futile attempts, Colin finally waved his wand toward the door , which, allowed the conversation to be heard more easily.

Rugen's austere tone filled the room, "That's quite an accusation to make. Do you have any proof?"

The other man's voice boomed out slightly nervously, "But its not- I'm –er, not accusing anyone of nothing. I jus' wanted to let ye know of some dangerous and strange going-ons in the Forbidden Forest."

Colin took a sharp intake of breath. The man was indeed Hagrid. Colin could not mistake that voice for anyone else's. He then frowned. If Hagrid thought there was something dangerous in the Forbidden Forest that was indeed a something he did not want to encounter. Keeping himself still, he waited to hear more.

The deputy headmaster sounded less then pleased, "Yes, but you implicated a professor from this institute."

Fumbling over his words, Hagrid attempted to clarify, "I was jus' saying, I've seen him go into the Forest, and then the hubbub-."

Colin's expression changed to one of puzzlement. What had happened? A multitude of thoughts ran across his mind. Though he was certain if anyone was responsible for anything evil going on in the forest, it had to be Riddle.

"Yet, is it not possible that you may have been mistaken." Rugen's words held a slight plea, as if he wanted to avoid any and all accusations that might mean additional work for him.

"But I've seen him-" Hagrid's voice wavered slightly, but he refused to back down.

"Just like you saw him causing chaos with the school brooms?" Colin's brows rose at that statement. Certainly they were not talking about him?

His breath hitched. He did not think anyone had observed him. He had not meant to destroy all those brooms. Besides he was able to repair most of them, those that had not disintegrated, that is, because of his cleaning/disinfecting spell.

"I did see him with the brooms." Hagrid replied in a defensive tone.

Exasperated Rugen continued, "And as I explained it was at my request. I thought there may have been tampering, after all Cicerone has had several hospital trips. So I had Tom analyze the brooms."

Colin looked dazed at this revelation, Riddle had access to the brooms? Why had he not been told of this? Suddenly his unusual accidents, took on a darker cast, and he silently cursed himself for his obliviousness to it all. Repositioning himself again, he focused back onto the conversation.

"No jinks were found on any of the brooms in question. And none of the other students have been having broom problems. So it comes down to a case of clumsiness." Colin glowered silently from his hiding place in the closet.

Hagrid was not as dismissive, "But 15 hospital wing trips in the pas' week? I'm certain I saw him cast something on the brooms." Colin silently cheered Hagrid on, before scrunching his face as he took in the comment of his numerous hospital trips. He scowled at the exaggeration; he only had to visit Madame Parfait eleven times last week.

"I was with him most of the time and the only things he cast were various reveal spells. But to get back to the problem at hand, as far as the commotion in the forest, could the Centaur's be exaggerating?" Rugen tapped his wand against his desk, in a contemplative fashion.

His statement was met with vehement opposition, "Exaggeratin'?—No! They were pretty clear 'bout the dark infestations, and it's suppos' to get wors'." Colin gulped at hearing this. His anxiety increased, as his imagination went rampant imagining various scenes of chaos, each more devastating then the last.

Rugen scoffed, "The stars again?"

"They've never been wrong." Hagrid replied in defense of the Centaurs.

Skepticism crept into the other man's voice, "Pish-posh. Have you seen these infestations?"

There was a pause, as Hagrid sat deep in thought, before speaking, "Well no, not yet….but the animals have all been uneasy, the spider's are movin' away from the castle and a unicorn…"

"The spider's?" At this point Colin could hear the screeching of a chair being move, and several heavy footfalls, before Rugen spoke again. "Hmm, I see. Well, thank you for this information, Rubeus. I'm sure you've been up quite late investigating this matter. Why don't you take the day off, tomorrow as well. Get yourself back in tip-top shape."

As Rugen prattled on, Colin heard protests from Hagrid, who insisted that he was perfectly well. The voices became dimmer as Rugen escorted Hagrid to the door.

Excited with his discovery, Colin threw caution to the wind, bursting out of the closet; the box safely ensconced in his arms, before falling to the ground, his legs asleep from the cramp closet. Attempting to shake off the numbness in his legs he struggled to stand, half crawling to avoid being caught by Rugen's return.

Grabbing hold of a nearby shelf, Colin hoisted himself to a standing position. He looked around the room for the closest route of escape. He suddenly frowned as his gaze stopped at an empty spot on a shelf. Blinking he was certain a pensive had sat in that place the week before. Peering around the room again, he looked to see if it had been moved; as its large size would surely give away its new resting place. Peering around the room, he could not find a trace of the object.

Hearing the stairs begin to creak from the weight of someone walking up them, Colin wasted no more time dwelling on the missing item. Box in hand Colin hurried toward the entrance Hagrid and Rugen had initially entered from, noting briefly the shape and size of the door seemed to have changed.

Ignoring the significance of the change, Colin clutched the door's handle. Looking over his shoulder, he could make out the tip of Rugen's tall pointy hat making its way up the stairs. Wrenching the door open, he plunged forward and stumbled, as one foot submerged itself ankle deep in water and the door behind him disappeared.

As his eyes adjusted to the dimness of his new location he realized the door had transported him to a washroom. Looking down he groaned on seeing his left foot caught in a toilet bowel. Tugging his foot out, he exited the stall, only to stop once more as the face of Moaning Myrtle appeared in front of him.

She sniffed as she floated toward him. "What are you doing here? Have you also come to make fun of me?"

"Huh? No!" Colin looked at the ghost, who began to wail.

"Uh there, there." Colin stated as he awkwardly attempted to pat her shoulder; failing miserably as his hand passed through her. Trying to think of something comforting to say, he asked, "Do you want to talk about it?" Seeing her eyes brighten, Colin had a sinking feeling his evening was about to get longer.

.oOo.

To him the crowd of people blended together. One virtually indistinguishable from the other. It was like the tumultuous ocean with a wide variety of emotions churning within the swirling dark robed waters. Moods ranged from anxiety to elation, but the overall pattern was one of calm. Yet he could not ignore the potential danger… the circling shark.

His large eyes gazed at the surrounding sea of black. Greens, golds, blues and reds dotted the waters adding unique splashes of color to the tide. Knowing he could no longer put off treading through the throngs, he heaved a small sigh, before plunging himself in the dark depths. Rising up once, then twice to avoid the potentially crushing waves, the diminutive figure was nearly swallowed in the currents.

Eyeing a floatation device an arms length away, Beeper jumped once more, before stowing away into a Slytherin seventh year's book bag. As he allowed his mode of transportation to carry him to his destination, Beeper browsed through the bag. Finding some pepper imps, he squeaked with joy, before consuming the bag. The flavor was pleasant and agreed with him, until he felt a raw heat rumble through him.

Smoke curled from his mouth. He opened his mouth in panick releasing many fiery flames and lighting the student's parchment on fire. Abandoning what was sure to be a sinking ship, he tumbled out of the bag into a cool chill of a classroom; and proceded to scuttle toward the front of the room, where he dipped his smoking fur into cup filled with water. Then removing himself to a more secure location, he heaved a sigh of relief and observed the events in the classroom.

Chaos was raining in abundance. The student discovered his burning bag and was dancing around with his wand trying to put it out. His efforts only resulted in the fire growing bigger and spreading to a nearby table. Enlisting the aid of his friend, the two of them managed to contain the fire, when a dark swirl of robes entered the classroom, slamming the door shut behind him. Seeing the calamity that had befallen the room, the man simply rolled his eyes before extinguishing the flame with a quick flick of his wand.

Turning to the students, he raised a brow. "Disappointing. Eleven NEWT level students, and not one can put out a simple fire." Shaking his head mockingly, he continued, "Do we need to go over the basics again?"

Embarrassed and ashen-faced at being caught in such a ridiculous position, the students immediately took to their seats. Silence loomed around the classroom. None dared face his eventual wrath. It had been rumored that a fourth year had spoken out of turn in his classroom the first day of class and had earned a detention. The student had not been seen since then.

Riddle surveyed his students, before striding to the front of the classroom. Coming to his desk, he leaned against it, before casually tapping a corner with his wand. Immediately a flutter of parchments floated to him. Counting the parchments, he looked up, "It seems as if I am missing an assignment. Mr. Winkle, any explanations?"

"Professor..Sir... I finished it, but my bag... it was in my bag... and it burned.. I.." Rip Winkle stuttered out before he was stopped.

"Well then I'm sure you'll be certain to cast a fireproofing spell next time." Riddle's tone was dismissive. "I'm sure you'll do better than a zero on the next assignment."

The student's eyes opened wide. "But -" At Riddle's withering look he finished, "-I'm sure I will."

Riddle's voice crisp he turned his attention back to the rest of the students. "Now today we will discuss reanimation and its benefits, followed by a more interactive approach."

There was a collective gasp among the students at his announcement. Whispers broke out. One of the students known as Benji Beatle spoke up, "But sir isn't that dark magic?"

Riddle glanced at him coldly, "Mr. Beatle, what an astute observation. Pray tell what led you to this conclusion? Perhaps the remembrance of what class you are attending?" Turning to the rest of the students Riddle continued, "You all would do well to remember that a Defense Against the Dart Arts class, involves examination of the Dark Arts as well. But Mr. Beatle is not entirely correct in his statement, components of reanimation are used in the healing arts as well. And _that_ is what we shall set out to examine."

As Riddle continued his discussion, Beeper chanced a glance around the classroom. The students sat in rapt attention to Riddle's words. His commanding presence created a studious environment, no one slept, passed notes, or worked on other assignments. It was as if he _imperioed_ the students into a perfect class.

Beeper frowned at the stillness of the students. The authoritarian tones of Riddle's voice resounded through the classroom. Riddle's power over the student's was tremendous. In the three days the nargle had been following him, he had observed more than one student leaving the classroom in tears when they failed to please him. He manipulated their minds so neatly and inspired both respect and terror. Not one student dared argue with him.

The nargle also noted that Riddle kept watch of his caretaker, the fuzzy haired hat maker. Just this morning, Riddle took out a map observing her movements as a tiny red dot coursed down the map's corridors. Perhaps he wanted her to make him a hat as well, or a blanket. It would explain why he kept wrapping Hermione around him.

Growing bored of the lecturing, Beeper gazed around looking to see if he could aid someone. The day before, when following Riddle on a trip to the owlery, the freezing night air led him on a quest to provide warm coverings for the birds. Luckily, his search did not take long as inspection of the intimidating man's wardrobe revealed soft silky owl blankets. Upon closer inspection there were even holes for the wings. Happy he had tumbled back to the owlery while Riddle slept. It seemed the man used the owl blankets as undergarments. In Beeper firm opinion all one needed were socks and a hat, which was why he was confused as to why Riddle threw a ruckus when waking that morning.

A student's voice filled the nargle's ears. "So why don't dark wizards create an army of the living dead?"

Riddle's head turned sharply toward the questioner, examining them silently. As if reaching a conclusion, his lips curled into a half smile, waving his wand the dead insects that had been lying on his desk arose, like a dark army their segmented legs clicked in time as they marched over the plains of the large desk.

"An army that cannot be killed, plowing through innocent lives, mindful of only one goal." Directing his wand again he directed them toward an apple that lay on his desk, given him by an admirer. Mechanically they approached it their bodies swarming over the fruit, devouring it, until nothing remained.

"Yes it does sound like an ideal army for a dark wizard does it not?" Seeing the students nod vacantly as they stared transfixed at the minute army, he continued, "But it must be kept in mind that an indestructible army is a terribly ineffective one as well. Their thoughts are basic and incapable of distinguishing one side from another." His words were punctuated when a beetle viciously ripped the head off an ant, and the rest of the army joined in its self-destruction. Still even among the rubble the body parts continued wriggling and moving forward. Waving his wand one final time the twitching ceased.

"Couldn't they be _imperioed_ into performing the task correctly?" A boy from Ravenclaw asked.

"Planning on creating your own army?" Riddle questioned, his brow raised. Ignoring the boy's blush, Riddle continued, "Ah the inherent problem of forcing someone to listen to you. Eventually they do not. Resenting you. All in all quite counterproductive. An _imperioed_ army would be the height of foolishness and a waste of magic."

As another student raised their hand to ask a question, Riddle waved his hand dismissingly, "Now given the ineffectiveness of this course of action, this is not to say, it may never be used. Indeed healers use this spell, in restarting a patient's heart if it's been stopping. In fact you may use it to aid a fellow student who has stopped breathing after a drowning experience. Yet, magic relies on intent and sometimes unconventional uses can develop into something else entirely."

His words were like a lasso wrapping around the impressionable minds, capturing their attention, their imaginations, hinting and whispering that 'something else' could be something greater.

"The vials before you contain various non-living insects, now utilizing the spell we have just gone over, _vixi victum_, the purpose should be clear." Tipping his head toward the class he indicated for them to begin.

Looking around the room, Beeper wrinkled his tiny nose as the pungent aroma of death from the creatures hit his nostrils. As the room filled with cries of _vixi victum_, he saw the several insects twitch before several started hopping or crawling. The process started again after murmurs of _desino victus_, stopped the creature's movements, and reverted them to their previously immovable state. His fur bristled at the callousness of the situation. A plot formulated in his mind.

Tumbling away from his hiding place, he sought a distraction, but before anything could be done, he was being lifted high into the air by a strong hand. His large eyes met Riddle's, who clutched the nape of his furry neck. A chilling gleam filled Riddle's eyes, "Now what have we here?"

oOo


	9. Sea of Red

_Previously: Riddle places a tracking ring on Hermione. Colin gets the box, and overhears that something strange is going on in the forbidden forest. Riddle captures Beeper._

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Chapter 9: Sea of Red

A babble of voices increased markedly as Hermione walked down the corridor. To judge by the sound, it seemed the students were engaging in some sort of celebration, as the voices seemed to blend together creating a cacophony of ear-jarring screeching coupled with bursts of laughter.

Following the sounds, she made her way to the great hall. As she entered, her eyes were greeted by a multitude of excitable students. She grinned warily at their enthusiasm. For despite their joy she could not shake the caution she felt. At the last moment Slughorn had invited her to aid in supervising the dueling club, due to the larger than expected volume of students that had signed up to participate. He assured her it was due to her past experience as a healer that led to asking her. Hermione nearly rolled her eyes at that. Slughorn had been attempting to corner her since her inadvertent Quidditch revelations, she suspected that this was just another ploy of his. Not that she minded, as it gave her an opportunity to more carefully observe Riddle. She frowned as she looked around the room looking for some sign of Riddle as well as Beeper.

Soon the cry several students shifted her attention, "Miss G, Miss G! We need your help."

Eyeing the three Ravenclaw students guardedly, she asked, "What happened?"

Jeanine Turtle beater of the Ravenclaw's Quidditch team spoke first. "Our seeker bailed on us."

Hermione mentally groaned. She was certain of what they were about to ask. Though she was not a big fan of divination, not one student ever came to her asking more about tarots or crystal balls. Instead they bombarded her with inane questions, ranging from 'is he/she cheating on me' to lost items to more popularly Quidditch questions. "That's terrible, Miss Turtle."

Before Jeanine could speak any further, Angus McGyver rushed in, "Yeah, we were hopin' you could use your visions and tell us who we should use to replace him."

Hermione looked at the students incredulously, even though she expected this, it never ceased to amaze her. Harry and Ron would have a field day with this she thought wistfully. Ron, her train of thought was derailed momentarily, as she thought of Riddle's words from earlier. Could he be here as well? Suffering in some dank alley. Imprisoned by Riddle. She shuddered, and hoped it another of Riddle's mind games. After a cough alerted her to the still present students, she emerged from her self induced trance and after a moment began to reply, "I-er-

"Iyer? Brilliant! Theo Iyer." Angus cried. Turning to Jeanine who seemed to enthusiastically agree, "Why didn't we think of him earlier. Thanks Miss G." They disappeared among the crowd whispering of the trance their teacher had gone into and how Ravenclaw was a shoe in to win the house cup.

She smilingly shook her head at their antics. Her smile froze when she turned her head to meet the watching eyes of Riddle across the room. On garnering her attention, Riddle's boredom of the entire engagement seemed to have evaporated. A predatory hunger lowered his eyes to half-mast. A muscle twitched around the dimple in his left cheek. Hermione's breath caught, but she stared resolutely back. Why should she lower her eyes when he was making no attempt to lower his?

The battle of wills was cut short when Slughorn appeared, marching onto the dueling stage, trying to gather everyone's attention. As Hermione turned her head to look at him she could not help but think that he appeared dressed for diplomacy, not dueling. His green robes had a silver trim around the neck and cuffs. His blue cloak was held at the neck by a large, round silver buckle that caught the light from the sun shining in through the high windows that ran along the top of one of the walls in the room. From a distance,Slughorn appeared calm and untroubled, with his brown hair resting lightly on his shoulders and his hands clasped behind his back.

As the students settled down, Slughorn began, "Welcome to the first Dueling Club meeting. We hope this to be an enlightening experience to everyone involved. We decided to spend today breaking everyone down into ability groups, to better utilize everyone's time as well as aid in strengthening weakness. I…"

As Slughorn continued his speech, the students began to get restless, grumbling about wasted time. Soon the restlessness began shifting to rowdiness, and Slughorn's speech began to be quickly drowned out. Hermione took out her wand with intent to silence the student, when Riddle stepped onto the stage into the light, his hand raised in a commanding gesture. The hall fell silent. Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. Even Slughorn stopped speaking and waited in anticipation.

Riddle's eyes roamed over the sea of faces, as if attempting to gauge the mood of the crowd. The crowd itself was filled with curiosity, excitement, self-interest and trepidation. After a moment he spoke, his voice like a striking serpents, "Let me remind you all of how the situation stands. Misbehavior is not tolerated. Speaking out of turn is not tolerated. Firing inexcusable jinxes is not tolerated. Anything I would not approve of will not be tolerated." He paused, before continuing, "Now separate yourself by grade, you have fifteen minutes to warm up. Be sure they are productive." He waved his hand in dismissal.

Although nobody spoke the atmosphere within the hall shifted. Fourth through seventh years divided themselves into the four corners of the room and began to practice various hexes and jinxes.

---

Riddle tirelessly wandered up and down the chamber, looking for signs of talent or weakness or those who would pose challenges to his authority. Nothing he observed gave him real cause for concern. Noting Mirage aiding a few struggling fourth years on how to properly cast an impediment jinx, he smirked as he observed her. Despite what he learned, he could not help but see that beneath the controlled exterior she tried to uphold there was an exuberant, childlike quality about her. She was an enthusiast, reining in her enthusiasm whenever she felt it becoming too pronounced.

Though of course it was perhaps that same enthusiasm that made her so good at what she did; especially in all her schemes and manipulations. He suspected she never did anything with less than her fullest application. Seeing nothing else of interest, he approached her and saw her stiffen. Excusing herself from the group, she raised her eyes to meet his.

Seeing him approach she backed away slightly from him, her eyes alive with uncertainty. He smiled. He was in no hurry and there was nowhere for her to run.

---

Hermione froze as he turned to look at her. His constant perusal made her uncomfortable. She inhaled sharply as she saw his expression. It seemed to toy with her.

She moistened her lips. "Is… something wrong?"

"It could be." His green eyes were glittering recklessly. "But wrong is always the most wicked of delights, isn't it?"

Ignoring his blatant teasing, she responded, "Truth and love will always have the final word."

He chuckled, amused at her self-righteousness, "How poetic of you. Next will you go on spouting the magnificence of truth? Without a doubt, truth is beautiful, but of course so are lies." Seeing her lips open in reply, he placed his finger over her lips in attempts to silence her. "As much as I enjoy our intriguing but pointless philosophical discussion of right and wrong continuing to be so wary of me will be both exhausting and uncomfortable for you. Propinquity brings a certain….acceptance."

"Tolerance," she substituted.

Riddle elegantly arched a brow, "If you wish to be blunt."

"I wish to be blunt." She frowned. "I won't answer any of your questions."

"I wasn't aware I was asking any." Riddle replied.

She cringed, realizing that indeed, he had not uttered a single invasive question. Yet this did not stop her defensive shields from rising. Given his teasing tones, she was certain that he noticed and was enjoying every moment, like a bored deity deriving satisfaction from causing chaos and discomfort in the lives of others.

She could feel tendrils of exhaustion poking at her, threatening to take over. How easy it would be to give in. Her plans to right the past seemed an exercise in futility, she was no closer to accomplishing any of her goals. Her head began to throb. Having enough of the subtle games, she met his eyes in challenge. "What do you want?"

His look was of mirth. "I believe we've been through this before. But nonetheless, what all men desire, no more, no less."

Frustrated at his sidestepping, she bit back, "That's not what I meant at all."

"Then you should say what you mean." He looked away momentarily, scanning the surroundings, before facing her again.

She tried the question again. "What do you want with me?"

Again he gave a wolfish grin, before leaning closer to her and caressingly ran a hand down her arm, "Really, Mira, naivety doesn't suite you. I see our desires intermingling quite satisfactorily. Though with your temper I would guess our union to get quite heated."

Hermione spluttered at his nerve. "No union…never…you'd have to wait forever, because a union between us would never happen."

"Indeed? You'll find I can be very patient- if the prize is worth it." He said softly. His hands wrapped around her waist. Pressing her close to him, he twirled her around, just as a purplish light, from a stray hex, shot past the place she once stood. Releasing her almost immediately, he began striding over to the source of the disruption, his lips tight and his black robes billowing behind him.

Hermione began to walk after him, when Slughorn stopped her. "Good-evening Mirage. It's been quite hectic around here hasn't it?"

Her eyes were still trained on Riddle, who was now speaking to a cowering student. Hearing Slughorn discreetly cough, she turned her focus toward him. "Er-yes, Mr. –"

He graced her with a warm smile, "Mirage, my dear, how many times must I remind you, please call me Horace, after all we are colleagues."

"Very well…Horace." His name felt strange in her mouth, unnatural. Feigning politeness, she returned his smile.

His eyes appraised her. Hermione felt distinctly uncomfortable. "You look very lovely today, your robes are quite reminiscent of the Befuddlement Drought."

She tried to keep from frowning. Her robes today were a scarlet color, several shades different than the Befuddlement Droughts typical purple. Slughorn was acting oddly. A normally pompous and self-assured man, his odd comment and increased perspiration set her on edge. "Thank you, I think."

Fiddling with the silver buckle of his cloak, he added, "I'm quite tickled that you were able to come and aid us. No problems I hope?" At Hermione's negative reply, he continued, "Yes well, Wallace informed me that you are new to this part of England, and that you are quite proficient with various healing potions."

Hermione had high doubts about this, considering that she never had a complete conversation with the deputy headmaster, that did not involve utilizing her 'seer' abilities. "He did? ……… Really?"

Slughorn wrung his hands nervously, "Mmm, indeed. And I was wondering, well, if you would…well.. you probably already know what I'm going to say."

Confusion colored her. Was Slughorn asking her on a date? She shivered, although he was 50 years younger, there was something quite unsettling about such a proposal. If he was asking, she was not going to make it easy for him. "Not in the slightest. Please indulge me."

Plowing forward Slughorn continued, "Yes, well, there is a Wizarding Potion's Gala, this Saturday at Diagon Alley, and ….I would like to know if you would join me."

Hermione hesitated, wondering if this was just some ploy, and if he was actually going to take her to the broom-racing track. Looking at his face again, he seemed sincere. "That sound's –"

Her answer was cut short by the clipped tones of Tom Riddle. His assessment of their conversation dripped in sarcasm. "_Fascinating_ as this conversation may be, I wager the students are ready to be divided into groups. I've already taken the liberty of finding several promising students to oversee each group."

Bewildered at the vicious charge beneath his harmless words, Hermione's eyes ran over his face. A marble mask. Still. Unmoving, but for the slow working of a muscle in his left cheek. As he moved his gaze fromSlughorn to her she felt discomforted at the rage that seeped from it. Fury hot enough to dry the ocean's waters and melt the One Ring, Isildur's Bane. His next few words were coated with acid. "I would _appreciate_ if you would aid me in testing their skills."

Hermione briefly wondered if she imagined Riddle's intense displeasure, as Slughorn seemed unfazed and unrattled. Instead, slightly embarrassed, Slughorn acknowledged Riddle's request. "Oh yes, thank you Tom. Just one moment." Turning to Hermione, he looked at her apologetically, "I suppose we'll continue this conversation later."

She nodded absentmindedly as the two professors strolled toward several waiting seventh years. Feeling a tap on her shoulder, she turned to see a Fifth YearHufflepuff, uncontrollably dancing away in front of her. Sighing, she waved her wand and stopped the twirling Hufflepuff.

Suddenly a shout from the other end of the hall made itself heard above the din. Spinning around abruptly, Hermione ran toward the commotion. What she saw made her stomach turn.

Slughorn lay on the ground. Everything around him cast in deep red hues. His hands shook violently, blood spilling past his clothing. As the liquid oozed past the cloth and onto his skin,Slughorn groaned. A sound filled with anguish and horror. His limbs twitching, his body contorted. Curling from a ball and extending his entire body so far in the opposite direction that in the hush of the room everyone could hear his spine crack from the arching motion. Back and forth, over and over his body was wracked with spasms.

Hermione pushing her way through the crowd and kneeled next to Slughorn, waving her wand to stop the bleeding. "What happened?"

Todd Toadstool eagerly volunteered the information. "The professor was showing Jasper how to perform some spells, when a spell backfired."

Seeing Slughorn begin to slip from consciousness, she frantically tried to keep him awake. "What spell was it?"

"A confundus charm hit him. His own wand then went off and the Gryffindor banner fell right on top of him." Another student shouted.

She looked at the professor, who's head lulled blankly in her lap. A rebounded _confundus_ would not have caused such damage. Neither would a fallen banner. She could not stop the affliction if she could know what caused it. The symptoms looked similar to a _crucio_ but more severe. Her eyes darted around the crowd, until they came upon an unconcerned Riddle.

Yet it was something that would have to wait. Conjuring up a stretcher for Slughorn, in a scene she felt has wildly reminiscent of the accident with Dumbledore, she proceeded to take him to the Hospital Wing.

oOo

Hermione paced outside the Hospital Wing, while Madame Parfait cleaned Slughorn of the blood, and other minor injuries. She was thankful that he had stopped shaking. Anxiously waiting to see him, she was startled when a strong arm wrapped itself around her.

"He was a bit clumsy was he not?" Turning her head her eyes meet Riddle's. Clumsiness. She was more certain then ever that what occurred in the great hall, was his doing.

"If by clumsy you mean putting his trust in you. Then I agree. You did this to him." Hermione seethed.

"I have at least thirty witnesses that would say otherwise. It was just an unfortunate accident."

His words rang false to her ears. She could hear with perfect clarity through his sugar-coated sincerity. And she was even more furious with him now, for his duplicity, for pretending, when she knew his true feelings.

As she wiggled away from his grasp a few strands escaped from the plastic clip that help her hair. Grasping several loose curls, Riddle twined them around his fingers. She lifted her head to regard him disbelievingly. "A man almost died, and all you think about is seduction?"

He smiled, showing his even white teeth. "You exaggerate. There is no almost in death. Ah, but seduction….the finest art there is. An art I would derive great pleasure in teaching you more about. I could make it worth your while in so many ways. I know many tricks."

Angry at his casualness, she snapped back. "I'm sure you know tricks I've never even heard of. You're all about trickery, aren't you?"

Silent Riddle moved his hands from her hair and slid them down the length of her neck, the pads of his fingers soft as crushed velvet. She gulped. His hands around her neck, she was certain if he so inclined he could strangle her then and there.

She darted a glance at him from the corner of her eye. His expression was bland, controlled, faintly amused. Yet it was too….. too smooth, as if he were wearing a mask. But he did wear a mask she realized suddenly. She never really knew what he was thinking unless he wished to make it known.

Suddenly he spoke, "We never did finish our conversation from earlier. I have a proposition for you."

His nerve never ceased to amaze her. "And I would be interested because?"

"To decline is not an option." He spoke confidently. "I have a task for you."

She gazed at him curiously. Whatever he may want her to do, would not bode positively for anyone. "Then all the more reason I can decline."

"Perhaps, but I hold something you want, someone. An even trade of sorts." Pausing he looked around. "Our conversation will be continued elsewhere. I will owl you in an hour with the meeting place. You will attend." Withdrawing his hands from her neck he took at step back.

Looking at him she said with irony, "How kind of you to give me such a long time to consider your proposal. Yes, your patience is truly astonishing."

Turning his back to leave, he replied, "My dear, you confuse ability and preference. I never claimed to be patient. I prefer things done yesterday; as my associates could eagerly attest to. Remember one hour."

Hermione watched the swirl of black robes disappear around the corner; her mouth becoming dry and her heart beating erratically. She instinctively knew from his commanding tones to disobey would be folly. She was aware that he expected her to follow his instructions, he _knew_ she would. Placing her hand on her neck to where Riddle's cool touch had lingered, she released a shaky breath. Unavoidable danger. Drowning in an obsessive undercurrent that longed to drag her down to its unfathomable depths. He made it clear, she was his possession, to play, torture and keep until the deadly end.

oOo

Hermione and Colin sat huddled together over an engraved awkwardly shaped box, in the dimly light room of requirement. The room was empty except for some items the time travelers forced the room to conjure up. The gray stone walls echoed with murmured spells and clanging sounds from the occupants.

Hermione felt the deep stir of anxiety well up inside her. She hoped the box could provide some answers, or cure all her current problems. She was to meet Riddle in two hours time, at 11pm, at the staff lounge. Noting the absence of Beeper, she feared the worst.

She glanced over at Colin, who was currently trying to pry the box open using some Muggle contraptions, she debated on how to break the news to him.

"It won't budge." Colin grunted, before wiping the sweat from his brow. "We've tried magic, tools, talking, chanting. Let's face it whatever is in there is not coming out here."

Picking the box up, she turned it over her hands. The Grey Lady had said the box was impenetrable, but not unopenable. She was certain that there had to be someway to open the box. Round and round she twirled the box in her hands. Exasperated, she set it back down on the ground.

"This whole thing is ridiculous. I don't even know why I thought there would be any connection between this key and this box." She pulled the chain that held the Twinkle's key from her neck, and tossed it frustratedly in front of her and stood. "Merlin, Colin, I just don't know anymore.......I don't know what we're going to do."

"Hermione?"

Pacing the heavy stone floor, she continued her ramblings, ignoring Colin's attempts to capture her attention. "The key was supposed to help us with our way home."

"Uh, Hermione?" Colin tried to get her attention again.

"What is it Colin?" She looked at him in confusion.

"The box just ate the key." Hermione blinked, then looked toward the direction Colin was pointing. Sure enough the box was glowing and consuming the remains of what seemed to be the key. Flinging herself toward the the box, she attempted to retrieve the key. Yet, the closer she got the further the box would spin away from her, flipping about haphazardly, and mocking her attempts. She had had enough, lifting her wand she cried out, "_Stupefy_." The box clattered to the floor.

Hermione and Colin cautiously approached the now still box. Poking it with his wand Colin pronounced, "I think it's dead."

Ignoring Colin, Hermione slowly picked up the box and saw that it was open. A map lay nestled inside.

As she began pulling the map from the box, a pillar of twisting fire erupted. White and gold, blue and red, folding in on itself, its shape ever shifting. Instinctively Hermione put up her hands to shield her face from the fierce heat. A heat she soon realized she could not feel. She could see something in the flames, faces with mouths contorted in silent agony. They spoke words she could not understand. As the firesleapt higher, a burnt hand parted the flames reaching out toward her.

Fingers wrapped around her ankle, shackling her to the ground. Another hand stretched from the fire and attempted to grasp the map that Hermione loosely held in her hands. Looking from the map to the faces she could see what they wanted.

The map was important; she would not give it up. Gazing at the despairing faces, she opened her mouth in an attempt to speak and bargain with them. Yet the words could not escape her mouth, and her leg could not escape the iron grip. Screams filled the air as the hands begin to drag her back into the fire. It took a moment before Hermione realized the screams came from her. Struggling to free herself, she saw the fires receding and felt herself enveloped by a translucent cold. Before she was plunged into darkness, she made out an outline of another face ghostly beautiful, but indistinct. A metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. Reaching out with her senses, Hermione attempted to see her surroundings despite the darkness. Knowing within herself if she could see, she could understand.

The darkness was relentless, spinning itself around her, attempting to capture her breath and end her life.

As she began to lose consciousness, a voice permeated through the midnight air. It called her name.

"Hermione- Hermione – are you alright?" Colin's anxious voice penetrated through the foggy mist.

Looking around her, she saw that she was still in the Room of Requirement, the scattered remains of the box a few feet away. "Huh- what? The faces didn't you see them?"

Colin looked at her with concern. "Faces? What fa- Did you see something?"

Rubbing her eyes, she wondered if she had dreamed it all. She surveyed her surrounding one more time, as she searched for evidence of a fire, blood, anything that would show she had not been hallucinating. Hearing a tinkling sound Hermione looked down. Tied to the map she held was the key. Placing the map in front of her, she began to unroll it.

Colin who had been observing her trance-like state, stopped her. Looking at the words written on the front of the map with interest, he asked, "Is that Latin? Hmm, my Latin's a little rusty, but I think it says, 'I catch friends with nets.'"

"What!?" Hermione looked at the the words Colin referred to. "No... Sum in Latin is 'I am'. I am bound to .." Looking at the text more careful, she translated the rest. "I am bound to the secrets trapped within. 'Sum reus adspecialis irretitus intus.'"

At her final words, the castle shuddered. The wavering walls sent its song of uncertainty down into the doldrums that existed within the fortress' foundation. A gloomy mist pervaded through numerous chambers and tunnels, weaving its way around smooth corners and rushing down sharp drops. Moisture clung to the walls like glistening tears. The weeping waters winding over wilting blue and purple foliage. All glimmers of hope and life hidden by a blanket of moss.

A raspy chuckle resounded throughout one of the larger caverns. Weathered hands tore through the spider's webbing that had encased and preserved his ancient form. Crimson eyes burned bright, their light searing the cold darkness in its path, silencing a cackling chorus of voices battling to make their debut. "Hush, it seems an innocent to the dark tower finally came, to join in revenge's game and free us."

.oOo.

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A/N: I have gone back and revised the first four chapters, adding more detail and incorporating suggestions made by my betas and reviewers.

Anyway I want to thank all my reviewers and readers, and hope you enjoyed the chapter.

To my awesome betas SerpentInRed and Hajnalmadar: Thank you for your endless patience and wonderful input… I have no words- just hugs.


	10. Chocolate Revelations

_Previously: Riddle plants a tracking device, in the form of a ring, on Hermione. Colin obtains a box and overhears a suspicious conversation between Hagrid and Headmaster Rugen. Beeper experiences a class with Riddle. Riddle discovers Beeper. First dueling club meeting takes place. Slughorn gets severely injured. Riddle instructs Hermione to meet him to discuss a proposition. Hermione and Colin find secret map of Hogwarts, awakening a silent evil in the process._

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**Chapter 10: Chocolate Revelations**

The heavy, fruity fragrance of a wine wrapped around Hermione and filled her nostrils with its intoxicating bouquet. Closing her eyes, she inhaled the aromatically tempting fragrance of the midnight elixir that gushed from the faculty fountain to her left. As a magically induced breeze ruffled the hem of her Picasso-inspired blue robes, her eyes fluttered open.

Standing in the center of the staff lounge and clutching a pearly white fabric, she absently wondered if it was possible to get inebriated from the scent of wine alone. Bewilderment did not even begin to cover the surprise she felt at Tom Riddle's proposition. Silence pervaded for a long moment as Hermione came to grips with his request and Riddle preceded to continue the work he started before Hermione's interruption.

"You're pimping me out?!" Hermione finally spoke, her voice an odd mixture of disgust, shock, and inappropriate amusement. She looked at the silky dress Riddle casually tossed at her on her entrance into the room. It was beautiful.

"Pardon?" Riddle looked up at her, his features skewed in irritation at being distracted from a parchment he had been rapidly scribbling notes onto.

Tearing her eyes away from the soft, dainty garb, her uncertain gaze met his cold one. "When you said preposition, I didn't think it would include giving me a dress and ordering me to accompany Captain Hastings to a potions gala at the Ministry building." Hermione was positively baffled at his request. "I'm not some…some harlot to ply my wears."

At her last statement, the mood shifted and his glacial look melted slightly. Taking a sip from his glass of red wine, he observed her, looking amused at her discomfort, "You misunderstood. Any plowing will be done by me alone."

Still confused, the innuendo slipped by Hermione completely. Instead, she furrowed her brows to make sense of the Dark Lord's demand. "But … Captain Hastings?"

"Would not be included in our passionate tryst."

"I don't—" Hermione halted, her breath hitching as she took in his suggestive words. "You're incorrigible."

"Am I?" He paused, his eyes locking with hers. "I have other business to attend to, so I'll be brief. Suffice to say I am well aware of your talents."

Startled, Hermione looked at him curiously. Was he speaking of her so-called "Divination skills"? She frowned, knowing he had shown no interest in obtaining predictions from her before.

Curious, she voiced her thoughts in a firm question. "I do apologize, but which of my talents are you referring to that require me to dress like some Pygmy Puff?"

Leaning back in the chair, Riddle studied her momentarily. "A simple job really, but one that requires non-detection. You shall give me Auror Hastings's wand and keep him occupied until I return with said wand."

Hermione narrowed her gazed at him and flung the dress she held onto the table top in front of him. "I'm not a thief and I will not participate in something so vile—something that would lead to a man's ruin. You'll have to find someone else."

Tilting his head speculatively, his lips curled into a smirk. "Indeed? Those are truly wondrous words from someone who has lied and deceived so many…. I wouldn't believe you the type to shy away from so-called 'vile acts'. After all, there are many who would deem your actions toward the house-elf reprehensible."

Hermione's jaw nearly dropped. He was comparing freeing house-elves to possibly incriminating a wizard for some foul deed. "They are incomparable. My actions serve to benefit others, including the house-elf, while you seek to better only yourself."

Riddle raised a brow at her words. "What delightfully twisted logic. Yet I am not nearly as selfish as you make me out to be. I plan to bring about change… affect the lives of others. All of which, I'm certain, will benefit at least several individuals other then myself."

"What do you plan on doing with Captain Hastings's wand?" Hermione asked, attempting to shift the conversation back and rid the chills she experienced with his words.

"Nothing as pleasant and nefarious as you are envisioning. Nothing unforgivable." He grinned at his own pun.

The curly haired witch scowled. To be part of any of his schemes would be like agreeing to the destruction of the wizarding world, working against herself and future battles.

"I don't care. I refuse."

Standing abruptly at her words, the chair behind the young Dark Lord wobbled precariously. His face was inexpressive as he prowled towards her, his crisp black robes billowing as he approached. Hermione unconsciously took a step back. He stopped within an arm's length from her. His words were quiet, tinged with a threatening undertone.

"No? I'm afraid you're in no position to refuse my generous business deal."

Hermione faltered at his words. Complacence had briefly overtaken her, a danger with a man as deadly and mercurial as he.

Gathering her courage, she spoke, "Business? Doesn't that involve an exchange of sorts?"

His green eyes twinkled maliciously, making her feel she was about to regret her words. "My dear, I thought it clear. You allow me to rule you… and in exchange our co-existence would be that much more pleasant."

"As tempting as your offer of slavery sounds, I, unfortunately, have to decline." Hermione turned to leave and escape whatever madness he had planned. She had taken no more than a step, when she found herself pinned up against him, her back pressed against his hard chest. His left hand held her waist against him, while his right tilted her head. He poised her like a vampire's victim. His lips precariously close to her neck. She could smell the sweet wine he had been drinking as his hot breath coiled around her, gently caressing the bare skin it found.

"Temptation," he whispered, his voice husky, his hand like a ghost's stroking the curves of her waist, before reaching further down and resting casually against her thigh. "Is that what you desire? Something to consume you, making you burn in eager anticipation to be fulfilled, clouding all reason and judgment, until you're crying out… no… begging for relief." Hermione shivered against him. She disliked the way he blurred and confused lines, leaving her unable to tell what was real. She could feel him against her, his lips forming a smile at her action.

Grasping her left hand with his right, she was suddenly propelled around by Riddle's strong, impatient arm. Enfolded in his tight embrace, her eyes met his. He gave her a look of studious concentration. Noting her discomfort, he gave a satisfied smirk. "Temptation is a dangerous thing; who knows what _timely_ secrets can be revealed?"

Hermione was cold. Her skin was suddenly a lizard's skin. Her stomach filled with blood turned to rust. Her mouth tasted of night damps. He knew. From all his words, his conversations, it was certain. Despite her careful plans, he knew. Just when she thought she was safe, she reached the bottom again. "No."

"Yes." He stepped away from her and flicked his wrist. The dress she so casually discarded earlier appeared in his hands. "Now, are we in agreement?"

Hermione hedged, desperately seeking a way to make him give up his plot. "How will we enter this party? As far as I'm aware you're not a member of the Apothecary Guild or part of the security detail. The wait staff perhaps?"

Riddle gave a bark of laughter. "You underestimate me, dear. A member of the Apothecary Guild generously donated his tickets since he had unfortunately become indisposed."

The look on Riddle's face told Hermione that it was far from an unfortunate incidence. She wondered who it was when her breath caught. "You stole his tickets."

"Pardon?" Riddle looked at her inquiringly.

"Professor Slughorn... Horace… you knew he was going… that's why ….oh, Merlin… all for the tickets?" Hermione felt ill as she pictured the broken body of her former Potions professor.

"Shush." Riddle brushed his free hand through her curly hair, in a mock attempt to soothe her, before lifting her hands and placing the gown in them. "Not all…Anyway, I consider it more a donation to a worthy cause."

Swallowing, she pressed the voluminous material against her chest, in a futile attempt to create a barrier between them. "What about your other associates?" Seeing him lift a brow in question, she clarified, "Surely you could take one of them instead."

Taking in her attempt at separating them, his voice became soft and assured, rolling over that fragile barrier. "I choose the individual most suited for the job." Seeing her open her mouth, he raised his hand for silence. "So argumentative and curious." His tone turned sharp. "I believe we've exhausted this topic. Tomorrow night at eight p.m. Now, not a word about this," he said as he laid an index finger against her lips. He gazed deeply upon her before abruptly withdrawing. Snapping his fingers, the various pieces of parchment that had been sprawled upon the staff table collected themselves into a small bundle. Grabbing the bundle, he fit it into his robe pocket.

Looking at her once more, he noted her tense form and teasingly queried, "What? No more words for me, Miss Greenhorn?"

Hermione glared at him, "Words are inadequate to express my feelings. May I say merely that one day I hope to repay you in full measure."

He grinned, tipping his head toward her. "I await the day." Then, with a flourish of black, he disappeared through the doors.

Squaring her drooping shoulders, she realized she had no choice but to play his game—a game she was determined for him to lose.

**.oOo.**

A decaying hand dipped its fingers in the waters of the reflecting pool holding Hermione's furious gaze, blurring her image. "No, you won't let him win……will you, little witch?" His voice was harsh. "With a little help, he'll soon taste the tangy flavor of death."

"And how do you hope to accomplish that, dear brother?" A voice of broken chimes whispered into the living corpse's ear. "I highly doubt our new keeper will let us out to play."

The decrepit figure rose from his sitting position, straightening his hunched form. The mist swirled about him like a milk-white sea. He leveled his gaze on the willowy female in front of him. "We'll just have to sway her now, won't we?"

"Yes, because we were so successful in swaying all those that held the castle's secrets before," the woman stated sarcastically as she proceeded to lay herself down on the stone shelf that jutted from the rocky wall. Bending her elbow, she perched her head on the palm of her hand. She looked at the figure thoughtfully before drawing her lips into a crooked grin. "Though I must admit you drove the last headmaster, Dippet, to grand distraction."

"Ah yes, he was delightful to play with. The girl even more. We can finally claim our revenge on those that imprisoned us. Burning their souls, stripping their will, until they are nothing more than inanimate playthings that bow to our pleasure." The lipless mouth salivated at the various evils that could be evoked onto their jailers.

Long ebony hair rippled around the frail feminine figure as she shook her head. Looking at her brother, she sought to calm his excitation with realism. "Grand ideas indeed. Unfortunate that these dreams will remain only that."

Yet, the daunting figure's smile grew even wider. "But that is where you are mistaken, dear sister. She holds something of ours."

Feminine eyes grew even larger as they absorbed the statement's implications. If what her brother was saying was true, the object could enable them to utilize some of their powers. "Power by proxy."

He nodded. "A little bit."

Sitting straight up, she leaned her body toward his more dominant one. "What do you plan?"

He pondered briefly. Many plans needed to be arranged if they were to become free. But first, terror had to be inspired. He was certain that the curly haired witch would seek to destroy its source, falling captive in the process. His skin stretched tightly, revealing a row of white, impeccable teeth, contrasting terribly with the decay from the rest of his person. Looking up toward the ceiling, he remained grinning as an idea took root. "A descending plague should suit nicely."

Soon a symphony of laughter sounded. Sharp and grating, it beat upon the walls like fists.

**.oOo.**

Hermione listened the young boy sympathetically as he finished his dramatic tale of woe. As he looked expectantly upon her, she smiled gently. "Don't worry about what Lawrence has to say. I'm sure he also has some phobia of some wizarding sweet, like …chocolate frogs. And then you'll get to be the brave one."

Ichabod Cobblepot looked at her skeptically. Many students seemed to agree that Miss Greenhorn was perhaps the coolest teacher in Hogwarts since her modern and futuristic way of looking at things made her extremely easy to speak to. But more often than not, that same viewpoint left students confused.

The young Gryffindor nodded his head politely before replying. "Thanks for your encouragement, Miss G. But honestly, who's afraid of chocolate frogs?"

Watching Ichabod join his friends at the Gryffindor table, Hermione sighed, tucking her hair behind her ear before making her way to the faculty table. Students always seemed to expect a prediction from her with normal advice flying past them. Settling herself in a chair next to Professor Kettleburn and an empty seat, she took a sip of peppermint tea before unrolling the ancient map Colin and she discovered yesterday.

"What are you doing?" Colin's voice queried mildly as he plopped down into the chair beside Hermione. Tugging his tie loose, he glanced briefly at Hermione before picking up the plate in front of him and piling it with steaming rolls.

Hermione looked up and frowned. "Studying the layout of the map."

She glanced back at the open parchment in front of her. It was different than the Marauder's map and more extensive in several aspects. Intricate webs of secret passageways and hidden chambers decorated the parchment. Intrigued and slightly frightened, Hermione realized that everything the Grey Lady had told her about could be found on the map. She noted that there were various shiftings of tunnels and walls in the castle. Scrolling through the various levels of the castle, she placed a finger on an unusual shaped object moving just outside the Potions room. Suddenly, a little floating bubble appeared above it identifying the object as a creature, the infamous Umgubular Slashkilter. Hermione blinked. She realized she would have to apologize to Luna again. The blonde tried to explain them to her once, but at that time, Hermione simply brushed it off as another imaginary creature.

"Is that wise?" Colin asked grabbing a knife while pulling a tub of butter closer.

Turning her head, she saw Kettleburn deep in conversation with Herbert Beery. "I charmed it to represent an astronomical chart for everyone else that chances to look upon it." She paused, realizing she would have to find a way to keep it from Riddle's clutches. She was well aware that he sought Hogwarts secrets. And here she had them all in the palm of her hand. He would be thrilled and she refused to give him the satisfaction. In her eyes, for Riddle to get his hands on it would lay all to waste, redefining tragedy as a whole with a magnitude that could not be measured.

"Mm-hmm…well I have a bit of news for you…" As Colin plowed on, Hermione's attention drifted back to the map. A cavern in the parchment's corner caught her attention. More precisely the name of the cavern caught her attention. Twinkle's Tomb. Gasping, she pulled the map closer, trying to identify its whereabouts, when a low black mist covered the map, making everything on it impossible to read. Frantically, she shook the parchment, dispersing the fog. Glancing at the area again, she rubbed her eyes. The room had disappeared from the map.

A clearing of a throat jarred her from her musings. Peering up from the map, her face took on a sheepish look as she realized Colin had finished speaking and was looking at her expectantly. She grimaced.

"Oh Colin. I'm so sorry. I've been a bit distracted."

He shook his head, a faint flush coloring his cheeks like the sunward side of peaches as he realized she had no clue what he had been talking about.

"It's all right." He busied himself with tearing a roll open, his thumbs pressing through the crust and releasing the fragrance of fresh baked sourdough. He then proceeded to spread honey and butter over the ragged edges. "For any particular reason?" He paused. "Besides the obvious I mean."

The smell of breakfast made Hermione's stomach clench, and she leaned back. "Besides Riddle, you mean." She glanced around the Great Hall; it appeared Riddle was absent from the feast.

He looked up at her, serious. "What's he done now?" He pressed the halves of the roll together. Dripping with butter and honey, they stuck together.

She bit her tongue for a moment trying to formulate her response. Then, shaking her head, she decided there was no easy way to say it. Casting a Muffliato around them, she turned to face Colin.

"Riddle blackmailed me into stealing Auror Hastings's wand at the Ministry Gala tonight."

Looking at Colin expectantly, she awaited his rants. Instead, he calmly tore a piece from his roll and tucked it into his mouth. A grin broke out onto his face after he smiled.

"That's ace!" Setting the rest of the bread down, he poured some tea for himself.

Whatever reaction Hermione anticipated, it definitely was not this one. Raising an eyebrow, she asked slightly uncertainly, "It is?"

"Well not the Auror Hastings part, because bloody hell, Hermione. He tried to send me to an Auror boot camp to assess my 'investigative' skills. But… well… the rest is pretty tip-top."

"Really?" While Colin wasn't prone to outbursts like Ron was, she was still surprised by his cheerful demeanor. She looked at Colin in puzzlement. "Any particular reason why?"

She pushed her plate away, losing her appetite significantly from all the stress. She pulled her teacup closer instead, cradling the warmth in her hands, while waiting in anticipation for Colin's response.

"I'm going out with Minerva tonight."

Cup poised in mid-sip, Hermione choked.

"What? When? How?" she asked, turning to look down the long table in Minerva McGonagall's direction, who sat quietly chatting with Rugen. She gazed at the Transfiguration teacher for a moment before directing her surprised look at Colin, causing his face to heat.

He willed the heat down. "Tonight," he answered before teasing Hermione. "See what happens when you don't pay attention." About to start on his second roll, he paused, noticing Hermione's lack of appetite.

"You need to eat, you know." He pushed his own plate toward her. "Take some."

Caving in, she took bread he had buttered already and spread it with honey, holding it in her fingers, unable to raise it to her lips.

"I'm sorry. How did this all come about?" she queried while dabbing a finger in honey and licking it off. The sweetness sickened her.

He ran his fingers through the raw, ruddy gold highlights of his hair. "Well, we got to talking about our love of Potions the other day and—"

He paused on seeing Hermione raise her brows incredulously. Huffing, he started again. "Alright, we got into an argument about my ruddy hate of Potions when she pointed out certain things that challenged my ideas....We ended up making a bet. Anyway to make a long story short, I'm going to the Ministry's Gala tonight as Minerva's date. That's why I was so excited; we can double. Me and Minerva and then you and Voldemort. Bloody hell, that statement sounds off."

Hermione snorted, "First off, I'm not going with Riddle. I'm going with Hastings. Second, that explained nothing. Now come on... give. What was the bet?"

Colin was saved from answering when a loud grating laughter filled the room. The temperature briefly dropping to a bone-chilling cold before warming up again. The key that was attached to the map emitted an eerie glow.

"What was that?" Professor Kettleborn queried beside them. The commotion was coming from the Gryffindor table where the students were screaming and clamoring on top of one another to get out of the Great Hall.

Surveying the scene closely, her thoughts took on a terrible slowness, thick and clear as the honey still cloying her tongue. It was impossible. She closed her eyes. Opening them, the image remained the same—thousands of Chocolate Frogs poured from fifth year Gryffindor, Lawrence Bovine's bag. No one from the faculty table moved, gawking at the strange occurrence.

Tabetha Taylor, a third year, was hysterical. "The wizarding plague has come. It will destroy us all. The beginning of the end. The apocalypse." She grabbed a first year Hufflepuff by his tie. "Spread the word. We—are**—doomed**."

The first year attempted to edge away from the dramatic girl, when the doors to the Great Hall burst open, sending her and several other students tumbling to the floor. Hagrid stood at the doorway, huffing and puffing while his wild eyes glanced frantically around the room.

Catching his breath, his voice boomed over the commotion, "I heard the hubbub." He panted. "I brough' help." Bounding after him was Fluffy. The dog's three heads intimidated the students, who proceeded to crawl back into the frog-infested Great Hall.

Tabetha shrieked even louder. "It's the Gateskeeper with his Hound of Hell, sent to collect our souls—" Her ranting was cut short when a chocolate frog lodged itself in her mouth. Hands waving wildly, she was soon covered by the chocolatey amphibians.

Tabetha's rants and Fluffy's appearance rattled more students, who were shoving each other to escape through another exit. Hermione realized they had to do something soon lest the students trample themselves. Where did the frogs come from?

Amid the chaos, Ichabod Cobblepot ran up to Hermione, "This is me… isn't it … this is what you were talking about. I'm the student whose supposed to lead the school to victory against the menace of the Chocolate Frog." He puffed his chest out bravely.

Hermione shook her head, lines of concern folding on her brows. "Ichabod, I was talking about being brave and facing your fears and not—"

Ichabod nodded enthusiastically, cutting Hermione off. "And not running away from them."

She sighed. Of all the times to have a revelation. Hopefully he was not thinking of doing anything drastic. "Well, yes… but it was in regards to Lawrence—"

"Lawrence's fear of Chocolate Frogs. Miss G, you were right! That's why I know it's my time!" he exclaimed wildly, grabbing hold of Hermione's hands briefly and gripping them so tight she winced.

She looking at him with a slight frown, not liking how this conversation was headed. "Your time?"

The Gryffindor looked at her grimly before tipping his head toward her. "I won't let this school down." He then turned and wove his way through the chaos.

"Ichabod, wait—"

As the students ran screaming from the destructive Chocolate Frogs, Ichabod Cobblepot leaped onto the Gryffindor table, waving his wand like a sword.

Hermione groaned, "I have a really bad feeling about this. Come on, Colin." What to do? The frogs were like an unstoppable army. She looked at Colin, who shrugged helplessly.

"Maybe we can instruct everyone to grab a bunch of frogs and eat them?" Colin suggested lamely.

"Perhaps we can alter their consistency," a deep voice behind her spoke up. Wheeling around, she saw it was Professor Beery.

"Don't you dare!" chimed the voice of Professor Kettleburn. He paused. "At least until I'm a good distance away. I'm not about to endanger my one good arm."

Herbert Beery let out an irritated puff of air. Brushing off a Chocolate Frog that had landed on his shoulder, he looked at Kettleburn and scowled. "There you go again. Why do you keep assuming something bad will happen?"

Kettleburn lifted his hand-carved cane, on which rested several chocolate amphibians, and prodded Beery's arm, punctuating his every word. "Because. It. Always. Does."

While the two argued, Hermione and Colin set about freezing the frogs, which would solidify mid jump, occasionally shattering into a hundred chocolaty pieces. Yet, for every frog destroyed two more appeared in its place.

"It doesn't seem to be working," Minerva McGonagall exclaimed worriedly as several frogs she had hexed continued their flopping motion. Her brown hair, which was unraveling from its tidy bun, was streaked with bits of dark chocolate. Seeing a ruckus involving several students, she rushed to the opposite end of the Great Hall, rescuing two students buried under an avalanche of frogs.

In the meantime, Hermione slowly made her way toward Ichabod, whose black robe had taken a brownish hue due to the various resting chocolate confections. He contorted his body in odd directions while waving his wand and Transfiguring the wizarding sweets. Hermione halted when a frog Ichabod just Transfigured fluttered in front of her face. It let out a large croak before extending its sloppy tongue and giving her cheek a chocolate-filled lick. Making a face, she blasted the frog into a gooey mess before crying out, "Ichabod… stop!"

"Huh?" The young boy looked up. "Oh hi, Miss G!"

Flicking her wand in several directions, Hermione cleared the space around her. Her speech was interspersed with the sound of sugary confections meeting their bitter end. "What—" Thump. "—are you—" Thwack. Thwack. "—doing?" Thud.

"Oh, this?" the Gryffindor queried as he Transfigured his latest victim into a half bat, half frog hybrid. "Well, I figured I could create some chocolate birds to eat the frogs."

Hermione paused, his idea sounded logical in an odd way. Then, shaking her head, she tried to sway him from his ill-thought plan. "But Ichabod…they're….OFF!" Hermione shouted as she swatted one of the flying amphibians that had landed on the top her head.

"I know they're a little off, but Professor McGonagall says that practice makes perfect and that I'll eventually get the hang of my amphibian to mammal Transfigurations," Ichabod stated proudly as he managed to create something that resembled a bird, albeit wingless.

"Great idea, Ichabod!" the voice of Todd Toadstool chimed, who currently Transfigured one of the frogs into a rather large chocolate boa constrictor. Yet, instead of swallowing the frogs in its proximity it began to hunt one of the Gryffindor boys, Oscar Beecher. Tripping him, the snake soon wrapped its body around the boy.

"Toadstool! You'll pay for this!" Oscar shouted before rising and hopping toward the Slytherin student in fury, the snake bouncing with him.

Hermione felt as though her head would soon split in two. Her mind was slogging through a sea of mud, or more precisely, chocolate. Shapeless thoughts and feelings hurtling past her as she stood staring at the chaos. What to do? What would her instructor, Mr. Y, tell her?

Contain the source.

Scarcely processing the words, she parted a path through the river of frogs, seeking for Lawrence's bag that had been churning out the frogs earlier. "Colin! Colin! Over here! I need your help."

"A bit busy here, Her—oomph!" Colin replied as a frog landed in his mouth. Hermione did a double take in his direction. Chocolate Frog dangling from his lips, he was currently grasping Fluffy's fur, attempting to control the panicky animal as they ran through a crowd of flying frogs.

"My, my—what an _interesting_ array of events," a familiar voice drawled.

Hermione rotated her head in Riddle's direction. He leaned casually against the closed doors of the Great Hall, his hand outstretched in a lazy motion as frogs bounced off the clear shield he created. His dark green robes pristine, he appeared entertained with the pandemonium. A faint blush, like a reflection of a rose in a mirror of silver, came to Hermione's cheeks as she glanced from Riddle back to the battling crowd.

"It's quite creative," Riddle observed. He rolled his eyes on spotting a Slytherin student being attacked by several flying frogs. Maintaining his shield with one hand, he withdrew his wand from his robes with the other and with a quick flick, the frogs disintegrated, the chocolate powder residue lightly dusting the student's features.

Batting away a frog that attempted burrowing itself down the front of her blouse, Hermione glanced at him curiously. "Pardon?"

He swept his arm around in indication of the melee occurring around them. "Your attempts at avoiding our arrangement."

"You think I—" Hermione began answering querulously.

"Who else would have the motive? In addition, the magic required to create this is surprisingly too advanced for the current talent of this school." To stress his point, he flicked his head in Ichabod's direction who was currently being smothered by the chocolate boa constrictor.

"Oh my goodness, Ichabod!" Swishing her wand clockwise, she unraveled the snake from the boy who had taken a cyanotic hue. Then, levitating the large reptile away from the students, she roasted the creature, sending scattered drops of chocolate rain flying over a mostly student-less Hufflepuff table.

"You're mad!" Hermione cried, turning her attention back to Riddle and his unfounded accusation. Lifting her wand again, she aimed it at a three foot frog that had been about to leap onto Riddle, shattering it into a thousand pieces.

He lifted his brow in surprise. Then, shifting his position from the door, he strode casually past her toward the dais that held the faculty table, ignoring the cries of help from several Gryffindor students who were battling several particularly vicious fanged frogs.

"Not at all. I'm enjoying myself quite thoroughly."

Hermione made a face.

Seeing her expression he halted his steps and turned his body toward her, "Besides, am I to suspect Filius is behind this hand of dark magic?"

Glancing around, Hermione spotted the short professor being pulled by his ankles from a mountain of chocolate by the Ancient Ruins professor, Bathsheda Babbling.

"Dark magic?" Hermione questioned.

Riddle's lips twisted in a dark grin. "Did you think this good? Ah, but that's right …all you do is beneficial to others. Forgive me. How should I refer to your special brand of destruction?"

Hermione glowered at him. "You're one to talk. I'm certain your daily motto is 'a Crucio a day, keeps your followers at bay.'" Frustrated with the conversation, she directed her wand toward the vampiric frogs, who hissed fiercely before meeting their doom in a gooey explosion.

Riddle rubbed his chin contemplatively while twirling his wand. "A wonderful thought. A terrible motto. I much prefer good manners. Such as 'never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake.'"

"Yes, you're the epitome of good manners," Hermione said sarcastically. "Threats, blackmail—" She paused. Switching the subject, she continued, "And as flattered as I am that you think this is my doing, I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you, I—"

He interrupted her tirade, his eyes flickering with something unknown, his tone deceptively casual, "Are you quite through?" Seeing Hermione gaze at him silently, he continued lazily, "May I suggest taking five steps to your right."

Taken aback by the odd statement, her eyes wandered vaguely about the room. "Why?"

"Think of it as a test in trust," Riddle replied.

Hermione raised her brows. Placing her hands on her hips, she planted her feet firmly on the stone floor. "I'm not a possession to command."

Riddle's eyes turned black. "Insufferable witch," he murmured, lowering his shield as he quickly strode toward her and grabbed her arm.

Hermione fought against his possessive grip. "Let go of me," she demanded.

His eyes burned into hers and roughly spoke but one word, "Never." Hoisting her body over his shoulder in one fluid movement, he hauled her away. Suddenly, a loud snap could be heard as a chandelier filled with countless winged frogs came crashing down on the spot Hermione stood moments before.

Lifting her head, Hermione stared at the spot in shock, her heart pounding fiercely in her chest. She felt herself slowly sliding down Riddle's body as he lowered her to the ground, his hold on her still tight. Tilting her head up from his chest, she tried to meet his gaze. His jaw was tightly clenched.

"Enough."

Riddle lifted his right hand, murmuring something underneath his breath. A strong wind could be felt filling the Great Hall, swirling around the couple, their robes billowing as they clung to each other viciously. The mountains of Chocolate Frogs were lifted from their temporary residence and decimated brutally. The source of the infestation gathered up by the twisting wind, twirling faster and faster as a black smoke poured from the bag.

BOOM!

Lawrence's bag, the source, exploded, showering the castle's inhabitants with its content.

The hall was quiet, except for the squelching of boots on the sticky floor.

Hermione's breathing was heavy and chocolate smudged her face. She looked at Riddle in amazement, chocolate dripping from his elegant features. "I – thank you." she whispered.

For the first time in all their encounters, Riddle seemed distinctly uncomfortable. "Not at all," he said brusquely, releasing her as if burned. "We had an agreement. It wouldn't do for something to happen to you before then."

"An agreement," Hermione echoed numbly.

"He—Mirage—are you okay?" panted Colin worriedly, running up to the two professors.

Hermione blinked. Riddle looked at her, his face unscrutinable. "I see, of course," she said stiffly, her hands clenched to whiteness. Gritting her teeth, she drew her shoulders back and bit off a breath. Not turning to survey the room, she stalked from the hall.

**.oOo.**

The strong scent of chocolate wafted through the doors of the bustling Great Hall. Despite dedicated attempts to rid the hall of the aroma's source, the sticky concoction clung tightly to the walls. Yet the inhabitants persisted in their endeavor to scrub the stonewalls clean of the chocolate residue. All except three individuals that sat huddled at a table whispering amongst themselves, the wide brims of their black fedora hats nearly touching. They emitted an air of an organized crime syndicate with their finely tailored suits and sharp manners. They were outcasts among their fellow house elves, not only because of the clothes they chose to wear, but also due to their eccentric and scheming ways. Ways that were developed from their years of work with Albeez Capone, a wizarding crime lord, who used the elves as goodwill ambassadors, in hopes of luring attention from his more nefarious business ventures.

The smallest elf, Yogurt "Umbrella" Malloy, also known as Yum, was creating a schematic of Hogwarts on a parchment, when an elf-ly fist pounded on the table, annoying several magical crayons and causing them to fly away. Yogurt looked through the eyeholes of his too large hat at the irritated elf, Bugsy "The Boss" Mesquite. "This has gone on too long, see."

At the boss's words, a husky elf named Pliers "The Executioner" Barracuda looked confused. "But Boss, the meeting just started."

Bugsy growled, his hat sliding over his stern features. Grumbling, he flicked a corner of his hat upward and gestured at the dark sugary walls. "The frogs, Pliers, the frogs."

Yogurt glanced at the other elves busily attempting to make the castle walls pristine once more. He sighed, knowing this would not be the last of the turmoil that would rain down on them. The castle's rumblings had woken the Boss up last night, who wasted no time in waking the others. Barking out a slew of orders, he had sent Yogurt on reconnaissance. The conclusion of the investigation was somewhat frightful. Grabbing a purple crayon that had not yet been disturbed, Yogurt moved to finish his diagram while muttering to himself. "The castle's angry."

Picking up on Yogurt's soft words, Bugsy pounded his fist on the hardwood table once again, succeeding in emptying the table of any remaining utensils. "Rusty here is right."

Yogurt paused from his sketching and frowned at Bugsy's deliberate name swap. The Boss was always on his back to pick a tougher sounding name, often alternating between names in hopes of one sticking. They never did.

The head elf adjusted his blue and black tie, which was nearly as wide as his frame. "Since the Big D ain't here, it's up to us to do damage control."

Pliers briefly bowed his head at the mention of the injured Headmaster Dumbledore. He quickly snapped it back up at Bugsy's final words. "Why us, Boss?"

Bugsy rolled his eyes. "Because that's what we do, Pliers—that's what we were hired to do. Big D told us to clean castle and we will."

The other elf scratched his neck before risking a question. "I thought he said to clean the castle and that we would be in charge of the sweeping and dusting?"

Grabbing the burly elf's ear, the Boss tugged it closer toward himself. "Yes and that's what we'll do Pliers—we'll sweep the dirt under the rug, dust the doer, plug the leak—clean castle. Capice?" On concluding his brief speech, he released Pliers's large ear, causing it to snap back and strike the nearby Yogurt in the face, sending him tumbling off the table and leaving his shoes behind. Pliers nodded dumbly while rubbing his now sore ear. Bugsy looked satisfied. "Good."

In the meantime, Yogurt hoisted himself back onto the table, snatching up his fallen shoes. As he placed one of the shoes upon his feet, he spoke, "Someone holds the Castle's secrets."

Bugsy nodded thoughtfully, his fingers drumming against the table's surface. "Exactly, Tomahawk, and my Galleons are on Lady Mop. One of the naked elves said she's out to get rid of us. S.P.E.W, she calls it, Secret Promotion of Elf Warfare. Tried to recruit him as an inside man, he said. No question about it- she's a spy."

A squeaky voice interrupted, "I thought she made hats?"

The head elf glared over his shoulder at the source of the voice, a curious young elf, 4 years of age. His features softened at seeing who the young house elf attempting to eavesdrop was. "Dobby, aren't you supposed to go with the school governor today?"

The little elf blushed with pleasure at the fact that Bugsy finally remembered his name. He had been running errands for the group for the past year, much to the chagrin of his mother, who consistently told him to stay away from the weird elves. Seeing Bugsy waiting for an answer, he bawled out, "Dobby do nots want to go." Tears leaked from his large eyes.

Bugsy rubbed his chin contemplatively, "Too bad, I was looking forward to having an inside man in Malfoy Manor."

"Dobby wants to be an inside man." Dobby jumped excitedly, before pausing. "But Mummy says that's being a bad elf."

Bugsy stared at the tiny elf for a moment, an elf that looked much like he did in his youth. He sighed, "Look kid, that's something you'll have to figure out on your own. But my opinion, you'll never go wrong with being yourself." Bugsy cleared his throat. "Now that's my advice for the day. So shoo, go clean house." Dobby hopped up recognizing the dismissal, large smile on his face. As he scuttled away, he vowed to make Bugsy proud. Perhaps he would get a few neat hats like Bugsy's in the process.

"That was beautiful, boss." Pliers eyes were glistening. Yogurt nodded as he wiped a tear from his eye.

The boss slumped at seeing his overly emotional team. Pansies, the lot of them. At this rate he would get nothing done. Having enough, he barked to the group, "Back to business!"

Pliers raised his hand. Bugsy tilted his hat over his eyes in hopes the question would resolve itself. After a moment, he snuck a quick look out from under his hat. The elf's hand was still raised.

He sighed and straightened his fedora, "For your information, Pliers—the hat-making—purely cover."

"But Lord Bartholomew Eckerd Edward Patterson Ender Remington the Third vouches for her," Yogurt interjected after drying his eyes from the teary scene.

Bugsy rolled his eyes, brushing off a piece of lint from his suit. "Lord Bartholomew also vouches that Muggles go the moon; that Devlin Whitehorn, the clumsy first year, will open a broom company; and that Aberforth's goats at the Hogshead are really Angela's wizarding brothers."

"But—" Yogurt opened his mouth to defend the mischievous nargle that saved him from a rampaging purple chicken in Diagon Alley.

"Still don't believe me. Remember when he almost offed Pliers here at the Hog's Head." The boss gestured to heavily-built elf, who was munching on a Chocolate Frog leg he discovered on the table. "Right after you overheard the goods on Curly from Scar-Face and Professor Pretty-Boy's discussion, he started the bar fight."

"Mundungus Fletcher nearly sat on him," Yogurt argued.

The Boss glanced at Pliers who had zoned out of the conversation. He shook his head. "He bit the man's arse, broke a wizard's leg, then went on to break a dozen bottles of liquor, start a fire and a bar room brawl. It's lucky the fire only burnt Pliers' hat."

"Pliers wasn't wearing his hat when it caught on fire," Yogurt shot back.

Bugsy groused, he had no love for a nargle that put his fellow elves in jeopardy. "Fine, we'll verify the facts first."

"What about the hostage situation?" Pliers queried, having rejoined the conversation once more, eagerly anticipating a rescue operation. He licked some of the chocolaty remains from his fingers as he waited for a reply.

Bugsy bit his lip. He hated getting involved in hostage situations if he could help it. As of now, the nargle was perfectly healthy, playing with some shiny items the wizard tossed into the cage to keep him occupied. He looked at his team. "My sources say it's under control."

He ran his eyes over the rest of his team. Flicking his hat up again, he slid his hand toward Yogurt's workstation, pulling the parchment Yogurt had been working on out from under him. "So Hammer, what do we have here?" he mused.

His eyes scanned the layout. Shaking his head, he grabbed a quill from his suit he and began to make revisions. "This ain't gonna work." He stopped, frustrated. "I need a stiff drink. Tequila!"

A second later, another elf in a crisp suit popped in. "Yah, Bugsy?" asked the elf, also known as Tequila "The Narcoleptic" Tortellini. The elf had been thought to have died over a dozen times, only for it to turn out that he had fallen asleep. He was Bugsy's key spy.

"Chocolate milk and make it a triple. We're going to be here awhile." Tequila nodded and began to leave, when Bugsy stopped him. "Oh and before you go—how's the research going?"

"Stand still. Rugen's locked the cabinet," Tequila moaned frustratedly.

The Boss raised an eyebrow. "Since when has that stopped us?"

Sensing the head elf's intention, Tequila smirked, before disappearing, his voice echoing after him. "Never boss. Never."

.

* * *

A/N: A big thank you to all my reviewers: EJL, pstibbons, where's the nargle, flamelm, actionhero, as well as all those that have put the story on their favorites or on their updates list. Your comments and support lift my spirits and have made me work that much faster in getting this next part up.

Also another thank you to my incredible betas: SerpentinRed and Hajnalmadar- I can't say it enough-you're both amazing. :)

A/N2: I would love to hear from people on what they think of evil brother/sister duo or the elves.


	11. Intermission

A/N: I must first apologize to my readers for my extra long absence and thank you all for your patience.

A cliff notes summary to catch everyone up after the fics lengthy hiatus. The next new chapter will be up by days end.

* * *

Intermission/Summary of Events To Date

**_Previously_**_: Hermione and Colin accidentally arrive in 1956 due to a mishap with Fred and George Weasley's telephone booth. On arrival, they find that their time traveling telephone booth had struck and critically injured Albus Dumbledore, who is the current Headmaster of Hogwarts. Hermione proceeds to take him to St. Mungo's, while Colin is left with the machine to analyze their chances of returning home._

_Hermione encounters some problems when delivering Dumbledore to St. Mungo's, leaving a very suspicious Auror Captain Hastings to conclude that Dumbledore's condition is due to foul play._

_Due to Dumbledore's incapacitated state, Tom Riddle receives the DADA position, during an interview with Deputy Headmaster Rugen, who fills in during Dumbledore's absence. On receiving the position, Riddle quits his job at Borgin and Burkes and plots his visit to St. Mungo's to relieve the Headmaster of his memories._

_In the meantime, the two time travelers chat in their make-shift hideaway, where Colin reveals to Hermione that the mixture, which powered the time machine, evaporated due to a crack in the container crystal. Hermione, shocked at the possibility of remaining in the past forever, receives some relief when Colin admits to knowledge of the ingredients the Weasley twins used to create the powerful mixture that enabled the time travel (Liverwood, Trow Water, Sebal Stone). Relief turns to surprise when Colin reveals his secret profession as a smuggler of magical items._

_Recognizing the cost of remaining in the past for any duration of time, various plans emerge, when Hermione recollects the Gringotts Key she wears (presented to her during her apprenticeship for emergencies.) The two set out to the goblin bank, where the vault provides Hermione with what it deems necessary—the mysterious Twinkle key, which is reported to open the lock of a magical trunk, which contains two of the necessary ingredients the time travelers need to return to their time. (full Twinkle legend in Chapter Four)_

_The duo then head to St. Mungo's to check on Dumbledore and see if they can obtain the lock from him, the last purported holder of the item. Their quest is stopped short when they nearly encounter Tom Riddle who intends to carry out his nefarious plan on the still unconscious Headmaster. Luckily, Riddle's devious plot is foiled unintentionally by Hastings, who has been keeping close watch over Dumbledore. _

_Uncertain of Riddle's true intentions and surprised at overhearing his new DADA position at Hogwarts, Colin trails Riddle, while Hermione weaves wards of protection over the comatose Headmaster. Riddle, aware of being followed, pays two goons to rough up Colin, who is later rescued by Hermione. On regrouping, they meet Beeper, a time traveling Nargle that stowed away in Hermione's purse._

_With__ this sudden twist of events, the two time travelers scheme to get jobs at Hogwarts (to monitor Riddle and find the lock in Dumbledore's possession). Using a bit of persuasion and future knowledge, Hermione attains the divination job at Hogwarts under the new name Mirage Greenhorn (an anagram of her old name). Colin is less fortunate, which leaves the duo to resort to a bit of trickery. They head to one of Colin's old contacts to create false documentation for themselves. There, they encounter Tom Riddle for the first time. Vaguely recognizing Colin as the man who followed him earlier, Riddle becomes suspicious of them and later hires someone to look for information on the duo._

_Unbeknownst to Riddle, during his encounter with Hermione and Colin, he had picked up a diminutive hitchhiker, Beeper, and unknowingly takes him home where Beeper steals Riddle's ring. _

_In the meantime, Colin disguises himself in his visit to Deputy Headmaster Wallace Rugen as Cicerone Levy, an Auror investigating the 'attack' on Dumbledore. During their conversation, Rugen hires him as Hogwarts' new flying instructor. This allows Colin and Hermione to move into Hogwarts, where they accidentally discover a hidden hideaway, within the school's walls._

_Uncertain what to make of this discovery Hermione and Colin cast it out of their minds as they focus on finding the lock. They break into Headmaster Dumbledore's office and find an intriguing box. They are forced to leave the box behind when their search is abruptly interrupted. _

_As classes begin—Hermione holds her first Divination class, which reveals an interesting tarot reading (Fortune, Lovers, Devil, Death), and causes problems due to an inadvertent future Quidditch score revelation. The revelation causes others to believe her a Seer while Colin's classes lead others to believe him a klutz._

_Riddle confronts Hermione, serving to intimidate her. This event leads Hermione and Colin to make a magical pact so Riddle and anyone else will not find out they're from the future. _

_During one of Hermione's searches through the castle for the lock, she encounters the Grey Lady, who hints of additional secrets of the castle, which are held in an indestructible map she created in her youth. While pondering the benefits of the discovery of this map and if it would help them, Hermione runs into Riddle leading to a heated exchange. _

_Following the exchange, Riddle meets an informant at the Hog's Head, where he discovers the 'truth' about Mirage Greenhorn, which proves unsettling (as the alias Hermione had taken also matched to that of a twenty-two year old, violent, and promiscuous pure-blooded thief and con-artist whose partner was named Ron Otter). _

_Hermione visits the staff library to gain more information about the map and lock only to meet with Riddle once again. Riddle, seeing his ring on her finger, which Beeper presented her with moments before, accuses her of stealing from him. He attempts to find the truth, a battle of the minds that leaves Hermione momentarily unconscious. Riddle uses this opportunity to take back his ring and place a tracking device, in the form of a similar ring, on Hermione to monitor her future steps. _

_Meanwhile, Colin finally obtains the box they had left behind in the Headmaster's office and overhears a suspicious conversation between Hagrid and Headmaster Rugen regarding the Forbidden Forest. _

_Beeper, who has been spying on the Dark Lord, experiences a class with Riddle, where he is discovered and captured. His absence is noted by Hermione who becomes quite worried.__ Unfortunately she is unable to investigate, due to Slughorn inviting her to supervise the dueling club. Deciding she may glean more information about Riddle and the nargle, she attends. Yet, the meeting does not go smoothly as an abrupt 'accident' results in Slughorn getting severely injured. _

_As Hermione brings Slughorn to the hospital wing, Riddle instructs her to meet him to discuss a proposition. While anxiously awaiting this meeting, Hermione and Colin analyze the box from the Headmaster's office. On opening it they find a secret map of Hogwarts and awaken a silent evil in the process._

_Hermione meets Riddle in the staff lounge, where she is blackmailed into attending a Potion's Gala at the Ministry where she would steal Captain Hasting's wand. Hermione discusses the mission with Colin, who is surprising cheerful about the prospect. Their conversation is cut short when an ancient evil duo, decide to cause trouble and overpopulate the castle with chocolate frogs. The event is resolved by an irrate Riddle and triggers behind the scenes assistance from several unusual elves._

_**Next Chapter:** A case of mistaken identity leads Hermione to great danger as a deceivingly quiet Potions Gala hides many secrets.  
_


	12. Passionate Crimes

**Chapter 12: Passionate Crimes**

**_Date: September 29, 1956 Time: 7:48 pm_**

**_Location: Ministry of Magic- Wizarding Pioneers Potion's Gala_**

**_Mission: Ron Otter (aka Ron Weasley look-alike)- Con-Artist/ Swindling the Greedy_**

The night was sweet with the dust of autumn leaves. Their brilliant colors swirled in time to the vibrant musical notes that traveled from the tall windows of the Ministry of Magic. The building's lights sparkled amidst the cloudless sky and hinted of joyous festivities. Normally bustling with politicians, Aurors and other laboring officials, the Ministry of Magic had been transformed for the evening to accommodate master brewers, herbologists, and numerous scholarly celebrities.

The Wizarding Pioneers Potion's Gala was a grand yearly event at the Ministry. It served to showcase intriguing discoveries as well as up and coming prodigies. It was a meeting of science and politics, a combination that led to false pretenses and greed.

It was this combination Ron Otter appreciated. To him, the event provided an ideal hunting ground to ensnare and swindle the glutinous. Enveloped in a shadowy corner of the ballroom, his eyes wandered over the incoming partygoers. Each was a potential target, some more promising than others. As he weighed the pros and cons of each prospective victim, he took a long drag from his sugar dragon and exhaled. The sweet vapors left his mouth in a chilly cloud.

"Excuse me, sir. No smoking is allowed on the premises," a wizard in his early twenties spoke, interrupting Ron's contemplation.

Ron appraised the man. His black hair was slicked back in the traditional style of a Ministry employee, yet his robes carried no insignia. After a moment, Ron determined him a guest, albeit one that worked for the Ministry, most likely an assistant of some sort. "Indeed… Titus?" Ron replied coolly, his eyes flickering at the man's nametag. He then took another puff and exhaled, the vapors hitting the man on the cheek.

He watched as Titus squirmed uncomfortably at his indifference. As he waited for the wizard to speak, he exhaled again, a well-formed saccharine mist exiting the cavern of his mouth. It sprouted a scaly head and wings, flying once around Titus in its dragon-form before being dispersed by the youth's hand. Ron frowned.

Titus looked confused as he inhaled the cloud's lingering citrus scent before hesitantly pressing on. "Yes. All cigarettes must be put out."

Muggle-born, Ron mused, as he heard Titus's statement. Titus shifted, glancing around. It was clear someone had put him up to this. He grinned good-naturedly at Titus, as he pressed the object against his lips once more. Wetting it, his tongue wrapped around the sugar dragon and swallowed the remaining bit of the sweet confection. "All put out." Titus looked on in astonishment.

"I—" Titus gawked.

Ron waved his hand dismissively, "Yes, yes. Now who sent you?"

Mouth still agape, Titus could only point. Ron followed the direction of his outstretched arm, spotting a man in red robes. An Auror, he mentally sneered. He was not surprised. He had counted at least a dozen since his arrival. The extravagance of the event, along with the high ranking of the invitees assured the event would be well guarded.

The lavishness for this year's event was especially noteworthy. It ranged from jeweled glassware, exotic dishes and flowers to expensive performers. Ron was certain they would have lined the floors with gold if they could. The Ministry had completely transformed the rooms normally used to welcome visiting international dignitaries. The space had been magically expanded and decorated with copious amounts of precious jewels, many of which were on loan from Gringotts and The Genie's Gems. The largest room had been structured for dancing and dining with various popular musicians expected to play, from The Celestial Symphony to Tab Deity to Elves Parsley.

Ron grinned at the thought of Elves Parsley, who was indirectly responsible for allowing him access to the event. He managed to slip in after casually informing some witches of the rock wizard's whereabouts. The early access provided him a chance to acquaint himself with the layout of the rooms, the exit routes being the first things he noted in case anything went awry. Gazing at the approaching Auror, it seemed it was time to make an escape. He tilted his head toward the Auror in acknowledgement before heading from the ballroom to one of the adjacent exhibit rooms.

The room was crowded with individuals vying to view the recently uncovered Merlin's cauldron. The ruby wrought item took center stage with other items being dwarfed by its majestic grandness. Ron wove through the small chatting groups silently, attempting to avoid contact with the patrons lest his escape be hindered.

"Yoo-hoo! Ronny, darling… over here!" called one of the women, who could only be described as a plump peacock. Her face was caked with a thick layer of foundation and rogue. Her dress was made of many pink ruffles and stringed with gems. Ron paused, racking his brain for the name of the woman. As she waved him over again, he realized that the friendly, smiling, over-dressed lady was Hepzibah Smith. Surprised at her appearance at the event, he absently started toward her, a smarmy smile plastered onto his face and dreams of Galleons dancing in his brain.

Chancing a glance over his shoulder, his smile turned surly at seeing the man in red entering the room. Observing the Auror so close, he switched directions, giving Hepzibah an apologetic grin before disappearing around the corner into the next room.

The other exhibit room was less crowded with dim lights illuminating the room. It contained very rare and smaller items of interest, a few of which had been taken grudgingly from the Department of Mysteries to be put on the limited display. Ron scanned the S-shaped room for an exit.

His eyes briefly alighted on one of the guests, an aristocratic man, judging by the expensive silken, black robes he wore. Ron heard several giggles. Turning his head slightly to the right, he noted the striking man seemed to have a horde of female admirers observing him. Yet, the man paid them little notice and was staring intently at the inside of one of the display cases. The object inside seemed to rotate to the man's viewing pleasure. It was an oddity that should not be occurring as all the items were charmed against theft and movement. Ron shivered at the demonstration of power done so nonchalantly. Suddenly, the item returned to its original resting place and Ron found himself staring into the eyes of the devil himself. Their unnatural color seared him, a burning red. The man had caught him staring.

Ron gulped, quickly moving away from the fiery gaze. One step backward, then another. _Thump_. His back encountered a wall. Blindly patting the solid bricks behind him, he searched for an exit. His robes dusted the wall in his slinking. Eyes refused to blink. What seemed like a lifetime, he finally located a door. He turned and dashed through it, hoping salvation lay on the other side.

Ron's unexpected movements startled several people, except the red-eyed man, whose mouth was turned up in a smirk; his eyes of blood reverted to gems of green.

To Ron Otter's displeasure, liberation was not found through the doors. Instead, two truculent goblins stood in freedom's place. Ron groaned; he had forgotten about them. The two goblins, representatives of Gringotts, guarded the most anticipated items of the gala. They stood in front of what was know to party-goers as the room of swag.

It was filled with numerous gold, silver,and copper-plated gift cauldrons. Each cauldron contained thousands of Galleons worth of potions and herbs, some potions of which were not yet available to the majority of the magical community. Yet to the non-scholars and non-potion aficionados that made up the guest list, the most longed for item included in the cauldrons was the all-expense-paid gift trips to various wizarding destinations. Due to the popularity of the gifts, the room was to be opened at an undetermined time that evening to prevent a disaster similar to one that occurred ten years prior, where guests left two minutes after arriving having claimed a swag bag and Apparating away.

At Ron's approach, the stouter goblin bared his sharp teeth. "You again," the goblin growled. "No admittance." The greenish-gray creature then pounded the ground with the staff held in his left hand. A burst of energy was expended from the wooden object, sending Ron sprawling to the ground.

Gritting his teeth, the red-haired man lifted himself up. Sniffing arrogantly, he spoke, "I'm not here for that."

"Then what are you here for?" a familiar voice questioned.

The con-man stiffened. Cracking his knuckles, he slowly turned toward the voice and blinked. It was an Auror, but not one he expected. Harold Easley. Ron rolled his eyes. Instead of replying, he casually adjusted the cuffs on his deep purple robe, regarding the outfit with disgust. The garment was a far cry from his trademark black leather robes—robes he should have worn, seeing as a simple change in his wardrobe was insufficient in disguising him. He started walking silently back to the main room, the Auror following along in amusement.

"You do realize you cannot hide," Harold spoke again as he removed his spectacles and cleaned them with a handkerchief from his left breast pocket.

Ron rolled his eyes at his temperamental acquaintance. The two had been close friends growing up until different professional desires pulled them apart. He finally acknowledged the Auror's presence, his tone sarcastic. "Ah, Harold, always a pleasure. Come to arrest me again?"

"Do I have reason to?" Harold queried, perching the glasses back onto the bridge of his nose.

"You've never needed reason to before," Ron replied churlishly, recollecting being taken into custody at least seven different times by the messy-haired man. Seeing a tray with drinks float by, Ron grabbed a sparkling glass laden with alcohol that was ten times more potent than regular Muggle wine. He quickly downed its contents, instantaneously switching the empty champagne glass with a full one.

"Ah—not still sore about that—are you? You were the most logical suspect given your … history." Harold bit back a grin at Ron's attempt to avoid the question. The Auror was well aware of the man's scheming mind. After all, Otter had managed to swindle numerous wizards and witches in the Thestral Con of 1952. It was largest con to date. Yet, still he protested his innocence, despite four years in Azkaban and an abundance of evidence to the contrary. Auror Easley's train of thought was broken with Ron's reply.

"And thus the one trussed up like a Christmas goose?" Ron questioned, sipping his second glass of hard liquor more leisurely, his demeanor more relaxed.

At this, Harold could not hold back a bark of laughter. "I thought you looked good trussed up like a Christmas goose." He shrugged with a gamin grin. Not even a week out of prison, Ron had returned to fleecing clients. Harold had caught him posing as a young witch. He chuckled. "Even in that remarkable and, dare I say, disconcerting disguise."

"Many thanks, monsieur. Then are you planning to tie me up again?" Ron answered, waggling his brow suggestively. He smirked at seeing Harold pale in response to his innuendo. Ron paused for a moment or two. He then snorted. "Relax. Honestly, humanity takes itself too seriously." He took another sip from his glass and gestured to the other individuals standing near them. "It's the wizarding world's greatest sin. You do realize if Merlin had known how to laugh, history would have been different."

Harold rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. "If the wizarding world behaved like you—well, I shudder at the consequence."

Reentering the ballroom, the redhead disregarded the man's pointed barb as an angelic vision entered his line of sight. Licking his lips, he elbowed Easley.

"Who's the lovely filly in white?" Ron asked, raising his glass in the sitting woman's direction.

The woman looked particularly regal. Masses of brown curls were piled high on her head with several plump ringlets framing her delicate face. Ron appraised the empire-waist silk dress, raising his brows as she shifted in her seat, revealing a long slit that traveled up the right side of her dress, ending mid-thigh. Matching long white gloves covered her slender wrists and reached her elbows. Her heels appeared to be made of silver, their straps coiling around her ankles like snakes. Ron squinted slightly; serpents seemed a common theme in her outfit, especially in her jewelry. A platinum and diamond necklace with matching earrings completed the ensemble. He nearly grinned at the contradiction of her outfit. The innocence of white coiled in a serpent's tight grip.

Ron turned toward Harold who was still scrutinizing the woman. He coughed, rousing the Auror from his musings.

Harold leaned forward. "That filly—as you call her—is Captain Hastings's date for the evening—Mirage Greenhorn," he reported in a low voice, his tone taking on the confidential air of a man who had access to official secrets and has been warned against passing them on.

"Mira? Impossible," Ron gaped, glancing at the woman again.

The spectacled man looked at Ron curiously. "Are you two acquainted?" he queried, suddenly worried about the welfare of his boss. Due to the con-man's profession, the majority of his acquaintances were of the less savory variety.

Tension filled Ron's body, the grip on his glass tightened. "It would be quite unfortunate for her if we were."

**_Date: September 29, 1956 Time: 8:19 pm_**

**_Place: Ron Otter in the Ballroom with a broken champagne glass_**

**_New Mission: Greet an old acquaintance_**

**.oOo.**

**_Date: September 29, 1956 Time: 8:00 pm_**

**_Place: Wizarding Pioneers Potion's Gala- Ballroom Table_**

**_Mission: Hermione Granger (aka Mirage Greenhorn)- Avoid trouble when parting Hastings with wand_**

"It turned out the penguins had stolen the pineapples," Hastings guffawed, his right hand striking the top of the hand-carved oak table several times in mirth, the vibrations rattling and moving the silverware.

Hermione nodded absently as her fingers closed in on her fork, which had been teetering precariously at the table's edge. Saving the utensil from meeting a dirty end, she gave the Auror a small, tentative smile. The unbridled enthusiasm that poured from his normally dour demeanor unnerved her and left her to ponder over the possibility of possession. Even Colin quietly questioned if his upbeat attitude was the result of a poor Polyjuice disguise.

"Yes. Who would have thought?" Colin spoke uncertainly. Hermione could see that Hastings's light-heartedness had him rattled. He tugged on his tie and succeeded in loosening its knot. "Sure makes one think twice about trusting a penguin," he babbled.

"I don't believe you'll have to worry too much about penguins in England, Cicerone," Minerva said dryly before taking a sip of her pumpkin daiquiri. Turning to Hastings, she added, "What an interesting array of events, though it seems Auror Moody bore the brunt of it. I do hope he's all right."

"He's in perfect condition and currently engaged in another mission as we speak." Hastings speared a breaded mushroom hors d'oeuvre with his toothpick.

Hermione watched as his teeth gnashed together, ripping the mushroom apart. The unnatural grin adorning his face heightened her growing unease. She debated his awareness of her task. Since arriving at the gala, she had attempted several well-placed spells, including Summoning his wand and loosening his holster, all to no avail. After a desperate attempt to separate him from his wand by ripping his robes, which failed miserably as well, she had no doubts as to why Riddle assigned her to the task. The wand had to be retrieved manually.

Hermione mentally calculated the disadvantages of failing to complete the task set before her. She knew with complete certainty that failure would not be tolerated and yet, she still had difficulty predicting Riddle's reaction. Would he follow through with his threat? If her time traveler status were revealed, it would be a fate worse than death. A fate that could be summed up in two words: Joyce Jenkins. Joyce had been a witch that claimed to be from the year 2098 and was subsequently locked up in the Department of Mysteries until her death in 1994.

It was a miserable end that Hermione was desperate to avoid. Imprisoned, she had no chance of correcting wrongs. Especially considering the smashing job she was doing so far, Hermione thought sarcastically. She highly doubted Harry or Ron would have ended up in her shoes. Why couldn't Riddle have been a drunken hobo that no one would take seriously, she mused silently. Perhaps there was a silver lining… she was at least at a ringside seat on some of his activities. Now if she could only figure out how to set things right.

She heaved a sigh, her mind returning to the task at hand. How hard could it be? After all, she was a quick study and good with her hands. That and a certain steel-coated charm had helped her achieve success. Weren't the same basic abilities required in crime?

"Eh-hem." A nervous cough broke through her musings. Looking up she noticed a man in red robes standing at Hastings's side. "Begging your pardon, Captain." The man paused, attempting to gauge his boss's temper.

"Come now, Dawes. It's a wonderful occasion." Hastings rose from his seat and clapped the younger man on the back. "You should be enjoying yourself." Hastings waved one of the floating trays over. Grabbing a Firewhiskey for himself, he offered a second glass to Dawes, unperturbed by the Auror's uneasiness.

"Er—sir—I'm on duty. You assigned me yourse—" At the Captain's hard look, Dawes faltered. Taking the proffered drink, he held in his grasp awkwardly, "Um—yes—thank you, sir. I came to inform you about Rosenhopper."

Seeing the Captain fix his eyes on him in question, he hurriedly continued. "He's at it again. Challenged two wizards to duels."

"I thought I made myself clear before leaving the office… The man's nearing 120, surely you can take care of the situation." Hastings downed his Firewhiskey, setting the empty glass onto the table. "In case you've forgotten, tonight is my night off," he explained impatiently, unlatching his wand from his holster in a quick but complex series of movements and waved it in front of Dawes, who gulped visibly. "See this wand. It's not signing off on any arrests tonight. And why is that?"

"Because it's your first night off in two years and it's my duty as your second to investigate all disturbances, fulfill all arresting obligations, and not come to you for any reason short of an apocalypse. Even then, you can read the report in the morning." Dawes took a deep breathe on finishing. As the Captain gave him a pointed look, he flushed embarrassedly. "Yes, sir—very sorry—sir." He bobbed apologetically before turning to leave.

He was stopped by Hastings, "Dawes?"

"Yes, sir?" Dawes swiveled back toward the Captain, eyes shining hopefully.

The older Auror waved his free hand at the drink still in Dawes' hands. "No drinking on duty."

"But—yes, sir," came Dawes' morose reply as he handed the drink back to Hastings and disappeared through the crowd in search of Rosenhopper and another fellow Auror.

"I do apologize for the interruption," Hastings spoke, directing his attention back to Hermione, Minerva, and Colin, all of whom had been following the conversation in interest.

"Rosenhopper?" Colin questioned.

"Hmm—ah yes—interesting fellow." Hastings placed the Firewhiskey next to the empty glass. "But first—another round of drinks—" Raising his wand, he beckoned another floating tray of drinks over. When the tray arrived, he set his wand on the table and lifted several drinks from the tray. "Long Beach for the lady," he stated as he positioned a tall red drink in front of Hermione.

"But—" Hermione protested as she looked fearfully at the goblet, which contained at least five different wizarding alcohols.

"No buts, love," he shushed her protests. "For the pain." Hermione knitted her brows together in confusion, but before she could question him further, he had already turned to Minerva. "Another Pumpkin Daiquiri, my dear?"

"Mmm, actually, I had been thinking of trying a Flaming Dragon," Minerva declared as she finished her first drink of the evening.

"An excellent choice," Hastings snapped his fingers at the tray that had begun meandering away. "One—make that two—Flaming Dragons." He ordered on, gaining the hovering object's attention.

In the meantime, Hermione felt a nudge at her ankle. Directing her gaze to Colin, she saw him gesturing madly with his head. Following his gaze her eyes stopped at Hastings's wand, which rested no more than a few centimeters from her.

"Are you alright, Cicerone?" Minerva questioned gently, noting his odd behavior.

"Huh? Oh, yes. I'm fine." Colin rushed to reassure her. "Just a twitch. The drinks are sure strong tonight." Colin took a large swig from the glass before him and shuddered in exaggeration as the liquid coursed through him.

Minerva looked at him curiously. "But you've been drinking water all night."

Knowing he had been caught, Colin's jaw dropped in faux outrage. "What? Damn ministry watering down the drinks. I should—"

Grateful for Colin's distraction, Hermione directed her attention back towards the wand. First, she needed a decoy. Glancing at Hastings, she was grateful to find him still preoccupied with the drinks. Discretely removing her wand from a holster that was strapped to her right thigh, she Transfigured her fork into an exact replica of Hastings's wand before adding a final touch. The duplicate soon radiated with a magical aura. Satisfied with the results, she slipped her wand back under her dress.

She hesitated, her eyes wandering around the table once again. Colin and Minerva still appeared to be occupied with the issue of drinks. Her eyes moved to Hastings.

"An extra shot of flames in mine," the Auror requested as two fiery drinks finally appeared on the tray, sending green and blue sparks in the air. After a moment, one of the drinks turned bright red as a small fireball burst forth from the liquid's depths.

Realizing she did not have much time left, her hand casually crept toward Hastings's wand before stopping dead, her hand frozen just above the wand, her mind whirling. Perhaps the wand was charmed or jinxed. After all, she was not able to remove it from his person by magic. What made her think she could do it by hand?

She watched motionless as Hastings slowly lifted the drinks from the tray and began turning his body back to the table. Knowing she may not get another opportunity, she braced herself for the worst as her gloved fingers curled around the wand.

Yet, the worry was for naught. The wand remained docile within her firm grip. Relieved, she tucked the wand safely into the holster just as Hastings set a Flaming Dragon in front of Minerva and an orange juice in front of Colin.

Colin brought the glass close to his nose and took a suspicious sniff.

The Auror looked at him slightly disparagingly as he sat down. "Juice, Levy. Juice. Any man that can't tell the difference between liquor and water should not drink." Shaking his head, he reached for the faux wand and placed it back into the holster at his side with a series of clicks.

Colin looked at him in annoyance, "I most certainly…" He trailed off momentarily, spotting the anxious look Hermione gave him. "SHOULD NOT.. which is why.. YES… why I'm grateful for your thoughtfulness." He raised his glass toward Hastings before taking a large gulp.

Eager to escape the conversation, Colin then stood and turned to Minerva, "Would you forgive my quarrelsome nature and do me the pleasure of dancing with me, Prof—Minerva?"

Minerva smiled. "Certainly, I'd be delighted, Cicerone." Rising from her seat, Minerva smoothed the fabric of her red dress before taking Colin's offered arm. The two set out for the dance floor. The Celestial Symphony was currently playing their last waltz and preparing to turn the floor over to Tab Deity.

"A very lovely couple," Hastings remarked offhandedly as he watched them disappear amidst the swirling dancers. "I do apologize; I'm not much of a dancer."

Hermione did not doubt his claims. "No apologies necessary. I'm not much of a dancer myself," she replied politely. She was relieved that he did not spot the switch, but at the same time, his behavior set her on edge. Why did he agree to have her accompany him? Or more precisely, how did Riddle set them up? Riddle was a man she knew Hastings was far from fond of. She mentally cursed Colin for abandoning her. Her anxiety was heightened at being left alone with him.

After Colin and Minerva left, the dialogue at the table became stilted, with Hermione's eyes sweeping the room ever so often for signs of Riddle. Forcing her attention back to the man in front of her, they made small talk about the late September chill before descending into an awkward silence. Hastings restlessly played with the navy-colored napkin in front of him, as Hermione closed her eyes in thought.

"Was she happy?" the gruff tones of Captain Hastings slashed through her ruminations.

Hermione's eyes fluttered open, her brows drawing together in confusion as she looked at Hastings. "I'm sorry?"

The older man looked distinctly uncomfortable at repeating himself, "Was she happy—my daughter?"

Hermione gazed at him mystified. Her eyes darted to the sides, curious to see if by chance he was speaking to someone else. Yet, they were alone. The Auror's gaze seemed to pierce her. "I don't—" Hermione stumbled over her words, unsure what to say to a man that appeared so certain. "I mean—" She paused. Did she know his daughter? She mentally flipped through the people she had recently met. She was convinced she had not. The only Hastings that she remembered from history was "Natalia."

Her last word was nothing but a hushed murmur, but it was a word, a name, that appeared to reverberate through Hastings like a thousand stallions thundering across silent desert sands. "Natalia," the name slipped somberly from his tongue. A faraway look appeared in his eye. "Natalia… my little angel." A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

His gaze turned flinty. "I know you don't like to talk about the ambush, but I have to know why." He discarded the napkin he had been fiddling with, the fires of determination filling him. "Did she do something? Her letters were always vague and of course brief." He shook his head. "Such is the life of a magicheologist."

A magicheologist? Natalia? Hermione's jaw nearly dropped. His words had evoked a tsunami of information that tore through her. She was flabbergasted as she pieced together the identity of his daughter. She shook her head, reaching for the sapphire-studded goblet laden with alcohol. Natalia Hastings, a witch greatly renowned both in Potion and Historical circles for her discoveries, was his daughter!? She gulped down the cool liquid in her glass.

To say she was taken aback was an understatement. She had read Natalia's journals, which had been published nearly thirty-five years after her death. The witch was an adventurous spirit that frequently broke the rules in her expeditions. From Hermione's readings, the magicheologist appeared to be a world apart from the generally dour man in front of her.

Weariness exuding from every line. Caution shading his every smile. He held the demeanor of a man consistently beaten by life's twists and turns. The harder she looked, the easier she could identify the bruises painting his soul and the call of death shadowing his silhouette. Yet, he was far from broken. His face held a hopeful sheen. His eyes radiated a desperation of a father longing to know of the last moments in his daughter's life. What lies had Hastings been told about her? He seemed to adamantly believe that she held key knowledge to his daughter's death. Factually, she knew most of the story, but it was knowledge she was not supposed to have, had she actually resided in this time.

Natalia and all those in her party were fallen by their greatest attributes. The brave was crippled by their sacrificing ways. The greedy was swallowed by their gluttony. The magical battle left a dark stain. Hermione pondered over the facts she recollected, debating how much to reveal to Hastings, if anything at all. Deciding the man in front of her deserved to know and that she could hardly change history anymore than she already had, she spoke. "They wanted the founder's journals…. The collection Mathos Elktwin had hidden hundreds of years ago, along with dozens of other Dark Arts texts."

Puzzlement colored Hastings's face, "The journals impossible..." His voice took a bitter turn, "..they were perhaps the only items not disturbed at the campsite. I've locked up the foul things up personally." Hermione's eyes grew wide as she took in this little fact. Shaking her head, she continued, "Yet, they were the target of—" Hermione hesitated "—the cause of …everything that happened." The 'everything that happened' amounted to perhaps one of the most mystifying crime scenes in wizarding history.

"How?" Hastings demanded.

Hermione looked at him grimly. "I don't know." Natalia's journals spoke of the greed surrounding individuals of her party, as well as how she had overheard a plan involving her demise, but the final scene was littered with mysteries. Any possible witnessess had left before death rained down onto the camp. It was speculated that the artifacts incited the final killing blows to the rest of the group after Natalia was struck down.

Silence rained at the table, both individuals lost in thought. Hermione swirled the remaining alcohol in her goblet and watched as the liquid danced against the glass. As her mind wrapped around the story, a sinking feeling filled her belly. Riddle was aiming to possess the founders texts. Why else would he want Hastings's wand? She had to return it. No matter the consequences she may face, she could not let Riddle get his hands on them.

The stiff silence was broken by an arrogant voice.

"May I have this dance, Miss Gr—?"

"Ron!?"

**Date: September 29, 1956 Time: 8:23 pm**

**Place: Hermione Granger in the** **Ballroom,**** mouth agape**

**New Mission: Rid a ghost and return a wand.**

**.oOo.**

**Date: September 29, 1956 Time: 8:26 pm**

**Place: Ministry of Magic- Potion's Gala- Dancing with Ron Otter**

**Mission: Conning the Con Artist**

"You're mistaken," Hermione mumbled confusedly as a man resembling Ron Weasley escorted her across the glinting dance floor. His familiar freckled features, red hair, and surprisingly identical first name had succeeded in deceiving her, however momentarily, and allowed her to plummet into her currently precarious situation. She was trapped. The man had skillfully cemented her in his firm clutches, prohibiting any escape.

"I admit to my doubts," Ron Otter revealed as his eyes narrowed on her. "Yet the way your lips spoke my name and the way your sweet face grew pale on seeing me … what other conclusion could I come to?"

He hushed Hermione's further protests, placing an index finger on the rosy pillows of her lips. "And now … your incessant denials … Mira, glamour charms can only hide so much."

Hermione huffed with righteous indignation, "You're an idiot."

"So you always say," Ron ran his hands down her form in an intimate fashion, much to Hermione's disgust.

As she attempted to halt his wandering hands, she wished Hastings had put up some form of protest on her behalf. Instead, so engrossed in his thoughts, he barely acknowledged her departure from the table.

Perhaps, she could bargain with the leering man to leave her alone. "I promise—"

With those two simple words, Ron underwent an abrupt transformation. His hands tensed at her waist. With his jaw set, he sent her a scathing look. "I wouldn't take your promise if it was wrapped in angel's wings."

"Wha—why?" she asked, startled at the anger that washed over him.

He snorted.

"You just want … " She stopped, not wanting to express the thought that was becoming more and more clear. Whoever he suspected her of being did not seem to bode positively for her.

"I just want what?" Ron challenged, lifting her gaze to meet his.

His eyes of ice chilled her very core. She suddenly understood exactly what he wanted, "Revenge."

He smiled. She never thought a smile could be so menacing. "Very perceptive of you, Mira."

Hermione gritted her teeth at his callous threat. Despite the mix-up in identities, Hermione steamed with righteous indignation at the man's bullying demeanor. She was certain his fury was directed at some ex-flame. The poor woman was most likely forced to use glamour charms to avoid the brute in front of her. Hermione glared at him.

"I won't let you—"

"Oh, you won't?" Amusement crept into his voice. "And just how do you think you will prevent it?"

Though she longed to blast the man before her off his feet, it was neither the time nor the place. Her ears strained to hear the closing notes of the upbeat piece, eager to free herself from the madman's arms without arousing further ire. Her eyes blindly searched the crowd around her for an exit route. Ron's grip on her wrist tightened at her inattention, which elicited a soft hiss of pain from Hermione. The sound was drowned by the wailing vocals of Tab Deity. "_With a Goblin yell—he cried—you're poor, poor, poor_."

Ron swiveled his hips briefly to the music, before crooning casually in time with the singer, his mad gaze piercing her. "I gave you all, and have none, babe." He pulled her close, his voice tinged with resentment. "Isn't that right, Mira? You cheated me, you heartless harpy. I guarantee you will receive your just desserts." Pushing her away from him, he whirled her around … right into the waiting arms of Tom Riddle.

"I believe I'll take this dance." Riddle trained his gaze on Hermione as his large hands glided down her sides to the welcoming curves of her waist and tightened their hold. He coolly dismissed the red-haired man that stood behind her.

Ron released a squawk of dissatisfaction, both at the blatant display of ownership and at having his double-crosser torn from him. He desired comeuppance and he would not let her escape so easily.

Hermione sensed his rage and was for the first time happy to be pressed possessively against Riddle's dark form. She placed a hand against his chest and glanced between the two men worriedly. Despite her fierce dislike of the crude Otter, she prayed the red-haired man would abort his suicidal strike.

Ron appeared to heed her silent plea. He backed away from Riddle, the color draining rapidly from his face. He narrowed his eyes and took a final glance at Hermione before disappearing into the dancing crowd.

Relieved, Hermione turned her head and settled her gaze back onto the man that currently held her. Riddle's lips were drawn into a self-assured smirk of victory. Meeting her intent look, he spoke, "It seems like you've been enjoying the evening."

Not in the mood for faux pleasantries, Hermione decided to come straight to the inevitable topic at hand, "I don't have it."

"No?" he questioned. His lips thinned. She saw the change in his eyes and felt the sudden tension in his fingers. Her heart began a slow, insistent thudding against her ribs.

"No," she gave him a defiant look.

Taken aback at her rebelliousness, Riddle studied her, a slow grin creeping across his face. "Hmm, I see. Perhaps you wish me to search your person." His lips neared her ear. "I'll happily oblige."

Hermione pressed both of her hands against his chest, demanding release. "And I'll happily give you nothing."

A cold wintry rage settled over Riddle. Taking a step back, he loosened his grip on her, enabling Hermione to slip away. She did not get far as Riddle bared a pointed look at the playing band and snapped his fingers. The crisp sound resonated commandingly with the instrument holders and like puppets on strings they performed for their master. The upbeat tune immediately turned sensual and dramatic.

Startled at the abrupt change in atmosphere, Hermione chanced a glance behind her, searching for its cause. It was a fatal error that would prove her undoing.

She was drawn into hell's fires as strong hands seized her shoulders and pulled her into their blazing depths. It was an intimate position so familiar yet so foreign and she could do nothing but shiver. Her back pressed against his firm chest. The tidy up-do she had worked so painstakingly on was rapidly becoming unraveled. His heat scorched her as his black, leather gloved fingers smoothly ran down the bare expanse of her arms and continued over the silken cloth of her own gloves. His breath was heavy in her hair.

Unconsciously leaning back into him, she felt his lips moving against her thick curls, a sweet massage that offered no relaxation as she heard his heavy whisper. "You gave me your word that you would obey me in all things. If you wish to renege on that promise, tell me now." His words burned through her. " I will not have my plans upset."

At the mention of his plans, she brushed away his exploratory fingers. Damn whatever secrets he knew about her. It was a promise she never should have made and one she reneged on wholeheartedly. As she moved from him, she doubted he would accept this stance.

Sure enough, she had not taken but two steps from him when he authoritatively grabbed her right forearm, and twirled her back into his arms…into an obscenely suggestive embrace.

His lunging figure looked down on her heatedly. Her breasts pressed up against his firm chest. Her legs straddled his partially bent right knee. Yet still this pose did not seem close enough for Riddle as his right hand pushed against the small of her back, forcing her closer still. There was no escape. There never was. Her hand rested on his chest as she steadfastly tried to deny the intimate closeness of the embrace.

The man before her made no such denials; instead, he traced her form with his eyes as he spoke again, "Think of this, Mira, before you give your answer. And if you don't wish to think of yourself, perhaps you will think of others … If you desert the plan now, you forfeit all chances of seeing certain acquaintances ever again."

She froze, her mind latching onto one name, "Ron?" she questioned absently. Yet, even as she spoke his name, she knew it was not the right answer. In fact, she felt with growing certainty that Riddle knew nothing of her and like Otter mistook her for another, a foolish mistake that she foolishly followed.

Riddle scowled at her utterance of the name and tightened his hold on her, "No—an acquaintance more diminutive in size, with a bit more fur."

Hermione's breath hitched at his words. He had captured Beeper, the tiny Nargle. Her lips quivered at the news.

It was a barely perceptible twitch the Dark Lord seemed to delight in. "I thought that ill-bred furry termagant belonged to you."

As he talked, his left hand danced over the curve of her hip, down the silken fabric, pausing only when reaching the naked flesh of her leg. His eyes radiated dark pleasure at the unexpected surprise. His voice turned husky, "I see you've modified the dress."

His hand fingered the slit's opening, before it continued its skimming course down the bare creamy expanse of skin on her right leg, "It suits you well."

Hermione held her breath as the cool leather caressed her. She knew he would soon discover the wand and braced herself for whatever turbulence would ensue.

Riddle did not disappoint. He soon located the item of desire, his fingers toying with the petal opening that clutched the thick wooden rod. He teasingly stroked it until its shuddering release. His licentious gaze fueled an unknown fire within her, burning her with its intensity. Inch by inch, she felt him withdraw the long wood. His whispered words were like winds blowing on smoldering embers, promising to ignite a fiery inferno of passionate pleasure. "Let me."

The roaring turmoil he inspired shook her very core. "No," she gulped, "you've no right to the journals."

Stopping his movements, he raised a brow at her words. "Mmm, it seems you've found me out. Clever girl." His final words were mocking as he analyzed her. Then, wasting no more time, he pocketed the wand, unnoticed by all who dared observe.

She waited for him to discard her, now that his objective was attained, but he did not release her. His right hand remained tight around her lower waist preventing separation. Instead, he proceeded to grab the underside of her right knee, hoisting up the shapely limb to dangle near his waist. Shifting his weight, he straightened his right leg, forcing her to abide to his wishes. Leg on leg, knee to hip, a tangle of limbs, all supported by him.

"Follow me," he ordered commandingly. Releasing her leg, he grabbed her resting right hand with his left, before pushing her off him.

Hermione started from her daze at his imperious tone and abrupt movement. She had nearly fallen. All that had kept her from slipping was his right hand on the small of her back, holding her in the crook of his arm. His eyes pierced hers in silent challenge. His movements were crisp and clean. They twisted and turned in pure fluidity, her legs mingling with his, a harsh and soft duality as if lovers in sheets.

She was soon twirled rapidly into a backward lean in his arms. Her left hand grasped his neck, they paused there but a second, their breaths heaving. "You'll meet me again at Gwendolyn's Fountain in an hour." He instructed.

Her body grew warmer as his eyes penetrated hers. Caustic and demanding, he was slowly eroding her good sense. Senses that told her to run—not only from the intrigue planned—but also from his wanting gaze.

Obedience.

Submission.

Domination.

She did not believe she could satisfy the cravings that appeared to consume him. "I can't—"

Yet, she was unable to continue as Riddle, sensing her struggle and quiet aversion to capitulation, did not wait for her to continue and instead interrupted imperiously as he lifted her from the leaning repose and twirled her away.

"You'll come because it suits me to have you there," he stated domineeringly as he pulled her back to him and held her in the crook of his arm. Leading her across the floor in a curving pattern, he continued, "…and I'm accustomed to having what suits me."

His arrogant words wakened Hermione from the intimate trance she had fallen under and her head snapped up in fresh anger. "I've already done enough damage. Find another lackey."

"How quickly we forget, Miss Greenhorn, about the lives of others. Then again, I'm certain you agree it is only ourselves that matter."

Anger receded slowly at his words, and she dropped her eyes shamefully, staring at the ground while she considered his statement. How could she have forgotten so quickly? She knew she would not sacrifice the nargle.

A ghost of a smile spread across his face at her silence to his statement. Taking the opportunity, he increased the swiftness of his steps.

She immediately matched his daunting pace and soon found herself wrapped around him in a lover's embrace, as the hand that had been claiming her waist hooked her right leg around his body then brashly trailed upward… gliding over her curves before coming to rest momentarily on the sides of her firm young breasts.

Lingering his thumbs caressed in a slow circle, then trailed once in a lazy arch over the subtle curves, pausing at their fullness before moving to rest under their soft swell. Her lips parted, but she found no strength to protest against the unfamiliar intimacy, her body responding to his touch, eclipsing her will. Abruptly, she found herself being propelled forward. Her hands clutched his shoulders automatically to compensate for the loss of gravity.

"Put me down." The order emerged as a trembling whisper, and his smile grew wider.

"No," Riddle growled, causing tremors to run along the length of her spine to the very tips of her toes.

Shaking herself of the feeling, she focused on the topic at hand.

"Hastings will find out," she stated determinedly.

Riddle appeared unmoved and unconcerned as he released her from the intimate hold. "Then you will become the consummate actress. You will act as though nothing happened. You will speak with respect."

Defeated. She was silent, choosing to nod her acquiescence.

"At last," he said in a lazy drawl, which she was coming to detest, "you appear to understand the seriousness of your position. Think about it, Mira. I have you in my power. There is no one here to save you."

Glancing about the room casually as if to confirm this statement, Riddle proceeded to withdraw from her. "No, we won't discuss this any further."

Then, as if dismissing her, he turned away, disappearing into the dancing crowd.

Uncertain as to why, anger reached her face at the minor slight and turned it a glowing pink while her dark eyes seemed somehow darker for it.

.

**Date: September 29, 1956 Time: 8:47 pm**

**Place: Left standing in the middle of the ballroom of the Ministry of Magic Potion's Gala**

**New Mission: Bang head against the wall at letting events and her heart spiral hopelessly out of control**

**.  
**

**.oOo.**

**Date: September 29, 1956 Time: 8:58 pm**

**Place: Ministry of Magic- Potion's Gala**

**Mission: Colin Creevey (aka Cicerone Levy)/ Scout Party/ Keep Hermione out of trouble**

"Grab a partner and drag-on round!"

Colin glanced toward the booming voice of the musical presenter, who was urging as many witches and wizards as he could onto the dance floor for a magical hoe-down.

He grinned as he observed several couples, including the Captain and Minerva, stumbling clumsily on the floor with their silken robes and pearled gems attempting to dance to the carefree tune that Colin concluded was decidedly out of place at such a formal affair.

Turning his head, the jaunty look that had spread across his face disappeared as quickly as it had come, when he spied Hermione's forlorn one seated next to him.

Forlorn…and disturbed was perhaps the best word that captured his friend's present state. Her fingers were absently dancing over the silverware, counting the times of the forks, before curling tightly over a butter knife, a wicked smile briefly gracing her face as she examined the blades uncommonly sharp edge.

Colin shuddered at the uncharacteristic expression that had crossed her face. He was fully aware a battle had been waged and was grateful to not be the opposing foe.

Seeming to sense the scrutiny, she set the blade down on the covered table, her fingers ghosting across the rest of the utensils again. Colin gazed at her actions consideringly as he quietly sipped the citrusy juice from his goblet. He couldn't blame her for her conflicted appearance. He had seen the rather steamy tango between her and Riddle. The intimate dance and its heated undertones were impossible to miss.

Their black and white figures had twined like ying and yang, causing quite a stir off the dance floor. Colin had nearly choked on his pumpkin-brownie when he heard several older witches forming a betting pool on when the passionate duo would wed.

Yet, as odd as it seemed, Colin could not deny that the two were eerily compatible, both clever and powerful in their own right, insisting on changing the world.

Colin mentally snorted at the random image that appeared in his head at the thought of them wed. A dark comedy in the making—Voldemort trying to convince his beloved wife to invite her friend, Harry Potter, for tea, while Hermione strolled around Riddle's fortress freeing house elves with knitted hats and socks.

He shook his head of the mental image, as he amended his previous statement. They were compatible in many ways, excepting the most important…goals and priorities. He shivered at the thought of them ever joining forces and working for the same cause.

Colin turned his head back to the dancing crowd and continued scanning over the faces passively, searching for any hint of trouble that might beseech them later. Theirs was a chaotic situation. Yet, Colin still felt a resounding note of hope, despite the stacked odds.

He paused as his eyes alighted on a set of angry blue orbs, gazing menacingly in their direction. He nudged Hermione, "He's staring again…. are you sure that's not Ron…or at least his evil doppelganger?"

While dancing with Minerva, he had seen the red-headed man approach Hermione and had been struck by the man's uncanny resemblance so much that he had initially thought Ron had brilliantly found them and had come to bring them home.

"Huh—who?" Hermione lifted her head startled.

Colin flicked his head toward the extremely irritable Ron Otter, who currently stood at the edge of the ballroom casting foul looks toward the duo, while conversing with another wizard. "Red hair…extremely pale…murderous glare… looks like—huh—do you think Ron may be a vampire?"

"What?" Her face was incredulous as she followed Colin's gaze to the scowling Otter. "No!" The exclamation rang firm tinged with disbelief.

"But it would explain a lot," Colin protested.

"Like what?" Hermione drew her face from the plotting con-man to Colin and raised a questioning brow.

Delighted to be able to share his theories, he angled his chair toward Hermione. "Like when he pulled an Edward Cullen and used his brute strength to rescue you from that troll," Colin stated leaning closer to her his voice slightly hushed.

A confused look crossed Hermione's face before she sputtered disbelievingly, "Where did you hear that?"

Colin frowned, "He did rescue you from the troll, didn't he?"

Hermione gaped, "Yes, well—"

Whatever she was about to say was quickly interrupted by Colin, "Then there's the fact he acted strange around Professor Lupin. It makes sense now considering the werewolf and vampire relationship."

Hermione shook her head disbelievingly, "What in the—you know what—never mind—because he's not. You do remember Ron aging…walking around in the sun."

It was Colin's turn to look baffled. "Yes." Pondering for a moment his expression brightened. "The aging could be a vampire illusion, and as for the sun… it rains quite a bit in England… are you sure he wasn't out only on the cloudy days?"

"Positive." Hermione grinned wryly.

A dejected look settled across Colin's face at the dismissal of his theory. He had been so certain that he was close. Glancing at Ron Otter again, he narrowed his brows. The wizards were shaking hands, seemingly satisfied about something, dispersing quickly as an Auror approached. Colin had seen many devious men in his line of work and recognized the tell tale signs of an illegal deal being made.

"I don't like him. He's up to no good." He pursed his lips in thought.

"You mean, unlike all the other men I've met in 1956, who are bursting with good intention." Hermione stated sarcastically.

"Yes…no….I mean Riddle's evil and all, but at least he doesn't look at you like he wants to turn your insides out."

"That's up for debate," Hermione murmured.

"Speaking of good intentions, when are we going to rob the Ministry?" Colin anxiously spilled out. He was eager to set upon the plan they had haphazardly put together the day prior. The Sebal Stone, the second ingredient in their time traveling potion, was located somewhere within the Ministry halls and they were determined to find it.

He mentally grinned at the hypocrisy they were committing. He knew Hermione had chastised Riddle for his plot to steal from the Ministry. Yet, they had created their own plans to do the same.

Though judging by Hermione's expression those plans were far from her mind, as she appeared startled by his words.

After a moment, she sighed, "We still haven't worked out where the Ministry is holding the stone. The more time we spend searching, the greater the likelihood that we'll be caught. "

"True." He sat forward on the edge of his chair and folded his hands. "If we didn't know where the stone was held."

He watched as Hermione's eyes brightened as she processed his words. She leaned forward to meet him conspiratorially. "What did you find out?"

"It's in Unspeakable Winthrop's office. It actually had been on display for a short while, in the room by the swag, until one of the Auror's noticed the wards had been circumvented." Colin recollected. He had overheard Dawes ordering a discrete investigation, while searching for a lavatory earlier. The tone of the Auror's voice had been frantic. "Anyway, they immediately removed it and are investigating and guarding it on the Seventh Level."

The hopeful look Hermione had held earlier dimmed. "How many?"

Colin thought for a moment. "Six at last count." He felt quite certain of this number, as he observed the Aurors attempt to slip out of the rooms unnoticed, their attempts at stealth being laughable. "Though I'm not sure why. Whoever did it wasn't interested in stealing it."

"What makes you so sure?"

"I examined the warding work. High-grade level magic." He had actually been impressed with the Ministry's security. Considering how easy it had been for people to enter it when he was Hogwarts, especially teenagers, he had thought this time period would be no different. Yet, he had been surprised. He absently wondered what had changed over the years that created such a shoddy Ministry.

"To take it down, meant that whoever it was is quite powerful. They didn't even trigger the alarm." The discovery had raised his hackles. The wards had been obscure. The only reason he recognized them was due to a one week internship with the Goblins in Gringotts. They had kicked him out after he accidentally triggered a protection ward on one of the vaults that ended up decimating the entire contents of the vault, injuring two goblins, and scorching off his eye brows. "I'm sure that if they wanted to take it, it would be gone. Instead, they moved it a bit, enough to be noticed by the guards on their rounds."

"A set up?" Hermione furrowed her brows in question.

Colin nodded. "Probably. Diverging attention from their real objective."

"Wouldn't the Ministry have shut down the event?" Hermione glanced around the room, as if certain they would be escorted out any second.

"And risk losing Galleons? Hardly." Colin scoffed.

"Riddle," Hermione spoke thoughtfully. "It had to be him. With Captain Hastings down here and the rest of the Aurors preoccupied, it would make it that much easier for him to steal the journals. This just makes our job harder. How will we get past the Aurors?"

Colin scratched his head. Her theory made sense. Riddle was the most likely culprit. He was certainly more than powerful enough. Colin gazed around the room, hoping for an answer to appear about their new crisis with the Aurors. None seemed forthcoming. He sighed. "Not really sure. I was hoping you would have a plan on that end."

Hermione snorted. "Obviously, you're forgetting that cat-burglary and movie-worthy heists are not exactly my forte. "

Colin grinned at the imagery of Hermione breaking into some rich schmoes mansion and robbing him blind. She'd probably leave cookies of apology. "No Kung-Fu'ing the Auror Department then?"

"No." She joined his grin.

"It shouldn't be too hard. Most of them are tipsy anyway." Colin gestured to several men on his right, who were obviously very inebriated, doing a dance which seemed to be a mixure of the hustle, the locomotion, and the hula. Returning his gaze to Hermione, he nearly jumped as a small hand appeared to be groping the table cloth. When he blinked, the hand seemed to disappear.

"Even the ones on duty?"

Colin's face snapped towards her. She raised her brow at his abruptness, before continuing. "Speaking of …even if I had some great plan to defeat them, there are still the Aurors posted outside the ballroom to deal with."

Colin wrinkled his nose at the thought. "But Riddle—"

"—has most likely been planning this for some time," Hermione stated pointedly, "and has everything figured out. We would most likely need to trigger—"

"—a distraction," Colin finished her line of thinking. It made sense. Riddle had created one. Why couldn't they? A smile spread across his face as he envisioned a solution.

His wiley grin was noted by Hermione. She peered at him suspiciously. "What did you have in mind?"

Colin opened his mouth to reply, yet as his eyes brushed over the table, his expression flitted to one of surprise and worry, "My camera. It's gone!"

Hermione, somewhat ignorant as to his plight, nodded her head thoughtfully. "That would work, I suppose."

"No, it's really gone!" Colin searched around the table desperately for the familiar rounded edges and black metallic sheen of his camera. His heart began to plummet within his chest. "This is horrible."

The camera had been brought with him when he was hurtled into the past with Hermione. He considered the Centaur 610 his lucky camera. He briefly puzzled over its disappearance, until he recollected the small hand he saw moments before. "The elves must have taken it." He stated sorrowfully.

Confusion spread across Hermione's face. She surveyed the surrounding area. "Elves. What elves?!"

"The ones in the suits. Three of them. They came by earlier...trying find some cleaning supplies—mops—I think." There was no way he could forget them. They didn't look or act like any elves he had ever seen before. They had worn dark custom made suits with large wide-rimmed hats, if he didn't know any better, he would have thought them mobsters. Perhaps due to the event, the Ministry required the elves to dress more formally around the guests when doing chores? They had asked for the location of a mop, seemingly certain that he knew its whereabouts.

"Mops?"Hermione asked curiously.

"Yeah—they were really passionate about it, too—told me I'd end up eating dirt if I didn't tell them were the mops were. Though I don't know what they were worried about. This place seems pretty immaculate to me." Colin quickly glanced under the table, in hopes of proving his theory wrong and that the camera had fallen underneath.

"Wait—but why do you think they took your camera?"

"They had been admiring it earlier… they thought it was yummy or something like that." Colin remembered how the head elf had glanced over his shoulder and on seeing the camera had barked out 'yum', which obviously intrigued the other elves, as one of them came forward to inspect his camera. "They then decided to change their plans and get tequila instead."

"Change of plans." Hermione mused.

Colin nodded. "Yeah—who knew house elves were big drinkers?" He paused, remembering Winky and her bottles of Butterbeer. The poor elf had been a sobbing mess. In afterthought, he added, "though I suppose their jobs can get depressing."

His thoughts were diverted from the elves as Hermione spoke again. "Do you know if there are any blind spots?"

"Oh—with the Aurors?" Colin glanced around the room, mentally recounting the posts and schedules of the Aurors he had gleaned earlier, when a blue spark caught his eye. "Yep. Northeast exit should be empty in three minutes."

Hermione looked upon him in surprise, "That's precise. How do you know?"

Colin's eyes trailed from the brilliant glimmer of light back to Hermione. "There are only two 'guards' posted there tonight and from the looks of it they're going to abandon their posts to deal with Rosenhopper." As if on cue, two shouts rang out, as the Aurors guarding the Northeast exit left their post to deal with the rowdy elderly wizard, who had just challenged another wizard to a duel.

"Great. Cover for me, Colin." With those words, Hermione hurriedly slid from the chair and, with a swish of her dress, disappeared into the crowd.

"Cover? I thought I'd help..." He grumbled, privately pouting at being left behind, before grabbing the goblet of water before him and taking a large swig.

"Help what, Colin?" A sweet voice rang behind him. Looking up he saw that Minerva and Hastings had returned from the dance floor and were looking at him expectantly.

**Date: September 29, 1956 Time: 9:03 pm**

**Place: Colin at the dinner table choking on his water**

**New Mission: Entertain Captain Hastings/ Distract Minerva/ Cover for Hermione/ Get camera back from elf/ Avoid death before birth**

**.oOo.**

**Date: September 29, 1956 Time: 9:02 pm**

**Place: Hermione leaving the dinner table**

**Mission: Retrieve Sebal Stone  
**

"Great. Cover for me, Colin." Hermione pulled away from Colin. Her mind was made up. She would retrieve the item.

Hermione skirted through the crowd until she reached the exit that would lead her to the seventh floor and, hopefully, that much closer to the future.

After all, to spend the rest of her life engaged in this pursuit, never again to be free—the thought was intolerable. Not to mention thoughts of the man himself. Her life, her future to be driven by him. Belong to him. She'd sooner die.

**.oOo.**

**Date: September 29, 1956 Time: 9:22 pm**

**Place: Ministry of Magic- Potion's Gala**

**Mission: Hermione Granger - Avoid getting killed**

Silence reigned over the three figures in the hall. One of whom had no choice in their speechlessness.

Hermione looked dumbly at the dead body sprawled before her. It was an unmoving role she was supposed to play only moments before. She shivered as she glanced back up at her savior and nightmare—Tom Riddle.

He had killed the man before her, a man who had been talking to Ron Otter not an hour before, a man—she discovered—who had been paid to destroy her.

She had been so close to attaining the stone. A few more moments and she was certain she would have had it in her hands. The dead wizard had caught her entering the unguarded room. She initially thought him an Auror, a mistake that left her wandless. She blanched on recollecting his beefy fingers searching her person for her wand, a process the man declared he enjoyed doing manually. She swore she could still feel his rancid breath near her neck and shuddered to think what might have happened had Riddle not appeared when he did. She shook her head of the image. "How'd you find me?"

Riddle did not answer. Instead, kneeling down next to the deceased wizard, he began to search the wizard's robes for something. Pulling out a small book, he flipped through it before quickly pocketing it in his robes. The same was done with the wand.

Hermione cleared her throat attempting to garner his attention.

"How'd you find me?" she repeated, trying to discern how close he had been and if he had been able to steal the journals.

Finishing his search of the man, Riddle rose quickly. He turned toward her, his face of lurking danger hiding beneath calm seas.

"Who—was—he?" he bit out halting through his teeth, as if trying to reign in his temper. He flicked his head toward the limp figure. "A scorned lover maybe? Or maybe a wizard who grew tired of playing games?" The last words were spoken bitterly.

Baffled at the searing intensity of his voice, it took her a moment to process what he was asking. On realization, fury erupted, "Lover? Games?!" She felt the angry color rise in her cheeks. She marched toward him. "You conceited ass. I have no lovers and I don't play games."

"No? Like Ron Otter? I saw how you made eyes at him."

"Ron?" A look of confusion crossed her face, until she realized he was discussing the meeting earlier with the redhead. She glowered at him. "What a filthy mind you have. It was a misunderstanding."

"Misunderstanding? Really? Well, I'm certain a few more minutes of misunderstanding would have found you on your back with your dress around your waist."

For a moment, Hermione was speechless, taken aback by his crudity. "You presumptuous pig. A man accosts me then sends one of his minions to kill me and you think—you think—I was contemplating doing—that—with him. Are you completely addled?"

Riddle was silent as he considered her stormy rant. His face continued being expressionless as he turned back in the direction of the prone figure. Lifting his hand, he pointed it towards the wizard.

_"Flamma Nex."_

The spelled words were emotionless. Black flames leaped from his palms, consuming the husky body that lay on the floor. The fiery blackness wrapping itself around the body continually, eating at the remains until nothing was left of the body but ashes, which speckled the floor like dust.

Turning back to her, his voice remained even. "Mind what I say, or suffer the consequences."

Hermione shivered at his cruel display and allowed him to drag on her arm, pulling her along the wall away from the unidentifiable remains until they turned the corner where he released her. He looked fleetingly over his shoulder to see if anyone followed before turning his attention back to her.

"What would you have done, had I not arrived?" he asked, his voice dangerously soft.

She made a scoffing sound. "I know how to take care of myself."

Riddle did not appear mollified. Rather, the statement seemed to rile him, his handsome face becoming harder and his mouth grim. To Hermione's never-ending surprise, he reached for her, and she sucked in a strangled breath as his gloved hands closed over her bare arms. The heat they generated was alarming, as was Riddle's abrupt metamorphosis. Right before her eyes, Riddle changed from smooth emptiness to something threateningly feral, and Hermione blinked in amazement.

Held by his hands and his glittering gaze, Hermione felt caught between dread and titillation, between the heat of his touch and the cold of the shiver that ran up her spine. Would he punish her? Set her aflame like the wizard moments before?

"Impetuous wench," he growled. "Are you deliberately thick-headed? You disregarded my orders."

"Well—I—" Hermione opened her mouth to protest.

This was not at all how she imagined things to go. She didn't imagine meeting him, or being rescued by him, yet again. But then Riddle was always doing the unexpected. And this moment proved no different, for as Hermione watched with widening eyes, his head dipped, his features blurred, and he kissed her.

Hermione had been kissed before, once by Viktor, and then once by Ron, but both had never aroused in her any enthusiasm for the intimacy. In fact, after Ron's kiss, she had always thought it rather distasteful to have someone place their mouth on her own. Until now.

Quite simply, Riddle put them to shame. He played upon her lips like a master, his first touch a mere brush, a featherlight caress that surprised her and left her aching for more. And instead of giving it to her, he grazed the line of her jaw, her cheek, her eyelids, and her forehead where a curl had fallen. Then, he pressed against the errant lock with a deliberate caress that hinted of delights untold.

"You are quite the sumptuous feast, are you not?" Riddle whispered against her hair, before his lips returned to hers, enticing and molding them until Hermione heard a low moan that shocked her as her own.

She unconsciously lifted her hands to Riddle's embroidered silk robe, drawing in a giddy breath at the heat emanating from his muscular form. He was so warm, solid, and sleek that Hermione could not help running her palms around to his back, beneath his cloak.

His mouth was dominant and sure. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as the force of the kiss held her in its prison. All was lost in the dark demand of need. His teeth nibbled at her lip, shooting sparks of flame through her vein.

As if her explorations encouraged him, Riddle touched her with his tongue, and she gasped with surprise only to feel him enter her mouth in a smooth invasion that seemed to affect her body in the most peculiar ways.

_Curious that someone so corrupt could be so delicious._ Hermione thought, for Riddle tasted better than anything. Hermione could liken him to none she had ever had before, his flavor a dark, rich embodiment of...passion?

As her thoughts made its way through her dazed senses, she realized that she should not be clutching onto Riddle in such a manner. She should not let one of his elegant hands clasp the back of her neck while her head fell back, her mouth opening under his. She should not push so close to him that her breasts were smashed against his robe. And most of all, she should not be moaning wantonly at the bliss found in his arms.

With a final hard, brief kiss, he stepped away, and Hermione's arms fell to her sides, empty and anchorless.

"They have gone," Riddle whispered against her ear.

It took her fogged brain a full minute to comprehend his statement. What had been a surprisingly wondrous experience for her had been nothing but a plot, a distraction, for him—something to not rouse suspicion of prying eyes. She gazed at him, her lips still burning, her breathing uneven, her legs still unable to obey the commands of her brain.

What a fool she had made of herself, responding as she did. She was dragged away from her thoughts when Riddle spoke again.

"Now tell me what is so important about the stone you were about to steal?"

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A/N: I wish to thank all my readers and reviewers: Jen103, Azera-v, Cook, sorael, j:), Belle86, fdrfhy0, blindfaithoperadiva, flamelm, Ekaterina2324, sexy-jess, claerwen, BookishBrains, anon, greatstars, PourLaVie, rollingthru, and everyone that made this story a favorite. Your support kept me plugging away at this fic.

Another big thank you to my wonderful betas SerpentInRed and Hajnalmadar, and their unending patience with me. /Hugs/

And thank you to Nnmous ()- I made the change you suggested. /grins/ You're right Colin is more of a smuggler then a transporter...especially after seeing the Transporter movies I can definitely say he's definitely no Frank Martin, and would end up running at most signs of conflict.

Again I wish to apologize for the length of time it took to get this chapter up and hope it doesn't take away from the story.

A/N2: In regards to this chapter, the"Goblin Yell" song Ron Otter was singing along to was a spoof of "Rebel Yell" by Billy Idol.

The tango between Tom and Hermione was inspired by the first 50 seconds of the Shakira music video Objection (Tango) /grins/ though I think Tom and Hermione do the dance more justice...you can watch it on youtube under /watch?v=8C6xDjQ66wM


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